A cruel chilli

I spend alot of the day dreaming up exactly what flavours I am going to use in my Maroccan chickpea curry-thing, with the only building-blocks being some fabulous rose harissa and, well, chickpeas. I have coriander seeds, baby spinach, tons of bouncy tomatoes, some lemon, onions - all sorts of things.
Then, whilst delving into my fridge to show off my outrageously purple rainbow chard to my (feigning interest) Spanish friend, I am disappointed to find it has wilted considerably. Damn.

Plans must suddenly change.

I have bok choi, still in very good nick, and all the usual things, by which I mean garlic, ginger, chilli, lime, shoyu soy sauce, etc. And some fat, deliciously worm-like udon noodles.

I finely slice the garlic, a good knob of ginger, and a fat red chilli, and cut the chard and bok choi into thick chunks. Frying the former stuff in some oil (NOT olive), I quickly add the stalky parts of the bok choi, then add soy sauce. In go the noodles then, and the chard and rest of the leaves, and I squeeze a lime over the lot. This has taken me about 5 minutes, from chopping board to bowl. In fact, it is just what I need tonight - fast, tasty and healthy; Saturday night's effects still with me.

Back in my room, I can barely wait to scoff it down, pausing only to press 'play' on a repeat of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's Escape to the River Cottage, Episode 4. I shove a mouthful in greedily with my knobbly red IKEA chopsticks, and it's perfect; sharp, salty, umami heaven. Another lip-smacking bite. Then, on the third, things start to go wrong. My mouth is heating up, very quickly indeed. It stings. It burns. I didn't take the bloody seeds out of the chilli - I usually don't with these big ones. Evidently, today is not my day for chilli Russian Roulette.

In a frenzy, I pour a glass of milk, and down most of it. It is of little consolation to the inferno that is my mouth. I wait, then, stupidly, have another bite. I'm hungry, and I used my beautiful chard in this. I'm not going to waste it. But oh, the pain. I have now finished the entire new two-pint milk carton, and have resorted to Greek yoghurt.

I will spend the rest of the evening picking reproachfully at the bowl. Sod it. So much for the chard, and for my chilli bravado. Next time, I'll be more careful, but next time is not this time, and I'm still hungry. Of course, there is nothing to eat that will not leave me short for the next days' meals. Still, I won't admit defeat with the noodles.

And you know what? That chilli, my last one, deseeded of course, would have been so useful for tomorrow's chickpea curry.