I was given pepperoncinis this week. I know something that simple should not be a big deal but let me explain.
These pepperoncinis had to travel to get to me. They originated in Greece and were imported to Finland. From Finland they entered into a backpack of a friend of a friend who illegally flew them into another country. Thank goodness for lazy TSA agents, people who understand which rules really should be broken, and Greek farmers.
I now have a small tupperwear in my fridge with these green peppers of goodness. I am temped to put them on anything and everything. It's almost as if they have induced pepperoncinis pregnancy type cravings. I'm tempted to even try them on my ice cream.
It's pretty sad.
But it has been the first time in years that I have had a decent one. Their spicy goodness add life to my routine of salty rice and beans. And while I'm sure they are sold in some hidden spot here in Rio de Janeiro, I have yet to find them myself.
I imagine some stand in a back alley with illegal watches, knock off purses, and a pile of pepperoncinis.
One day I will find this man, befriend him, and buy his entire stock. I will consume so much that Rio de Janeiro will smell of my spicy gas. It's only a matter of time.
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