As you are all doubtless aware by now, salsa recently surpassed ketchup as the American condiment of choice. This signifies a sea change in the American palate. Foods that are so hot they make your eyeballs dance in their sockets are now de rigeur, while the bland standbys of the past are scoffed at, or ignored completely.

Many people applaud this evolution of taste, and my husband is one of them. Michael is so enamored of hot foods that he and his college friend Waylon used to consume a regular-sized bottle of Tabasco sauce weekly. After months of this, they were making a meal together one night and decided that the particular Tabasco they were using was inferior.

They cracked open another bottle, only to have it taste the same: watery, weak, insignificant. They were outraged enough to sit down and write an indignant letter to the MacIlhenny family of Louisiana, makers of Tabasco since its birth after the Civil War, when chile plant seeds were nearly the only thing they had left.

The MacIlhennys kindly wrote back an apologetic letter, saying that Tabasco sells fast enough that it doesn't sit on the shelves very long -- therefore, they doubted that the boys could have gotten hold of an old bottle. However, there was always that possibility, they supposed, and so they were sending along a case of fresh Tabasco, just off the production line. Michael and Waylon were delighted, and immediately dipped into their new treasure, only to find it identical to the sauce that had prompted their letter in the first place. Only then did they realize that it wasn't the Tabasco -- it was them. They had graduated to hotter things.

Michael has two favorite hot sauces, one for its flavor and the other for its pure heat. The favorite in terms of flavor is Melinda's. There is Melinda's Habanero Pepper Sauce, Extra Hot Pepper Sauce, and XXXTRA Hot Pepper Sauce. The one he prefers for the sole purpose of administering chemical burns to his mouth is called Doc's, and it apparently makes Melinda's look like pink lemonade (I have never been brave enough to try it).

There is a restaurant not too terribly far from us called Quaker Steak & Lube. QS&L is known far and wide for its amazing selection of chicken wings (I think they have about two dozen different flavor choices). Ordering their hottest, and least edible, requires that the customer sign an actual release form before being brought his or her wings. Our friend Gary did just this, ordering a sample platter (eight wings, versus the normal sixteen). If he finished all the wings, his name would take place alongside those of other brave souls on the restaurant's Wall of Flame (I kid you not).

Gary was midway through his second or third wing, and was drinking lots of beer to try to offset the thermonuclear reaction taking place in his very own mouth. He finally had to stop for a moment and actually rest, when a college jock-type who'd been watching from the next table, said with scorn, "They ain't that hot."

Gary looked upon this youthful bravado with pity and compassion and said, "You are more than welcome to try one." The boy did, immediately stood up, uttered a colorful oath, and ran for the men's room.

At any rate, no matter what their spiciness limit, even most normal people welcome a bowl of chili. I have been wondering lately, though: what is it about chili that gets people all hot (pun intended) and bothered? There are fiercely contested chili competitions from Texas to Alaska. You never hear about gelatin mold contests, or macaroni and cheese contests, but chili seems to inspire people.

I have come to the conclusion that one of the reasons chili engenders such controversy is that it has enough ingredients to turn anyone's minor tinkering into the latest and greatest recipe. I happen to find all-chili cookbooks sort of tiresome, but there are certainly a number of them out there, so someone must be buying them. The main thing to remember about chili is that it can and should be made in advance; when Michael makes it, he generally adheres to John Steele Gordon's admonition that, "Chili is much improved by having had a day to contemplate its fate."

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