City Secrets: 'Hot as a Mutha' dinner at Heaven on Seven

February 2, 8:42 AMChicago Dining ExaminerEmily Szopa

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Ghost Chile Corn Chowder

A few months ago, I was watching a competitive eating show on TV (a replay of Fox’s 2002 Glutton Bowl) and just when I thought I couldn’t stand watching anyone ingest another bite—regardless of whether it was a Rocky Mountain oyster or spoonful of mayonnaise—they brought out several 15-foot-long sushi rolls. I remember thinking, “Man, that rice is just going to blow up in their stomachs,” believing that would be the eaters’ downfall, but it quickly became apparent that the real challenge was the wasabi that filled two feet of each roll.

Aside from the obstacle caused by the actual heat of the horseradish, eating spicy foods is said to help suppress one’s appetite, which, of course, would be no help at all in an eating competition. I watched as, one by one, the contestants dropped before a single one could finish an entire foot of the wasabi-stuffed sushi.

For me, when it comes to Japanese horseradish, a little goes a long way. Chiles, on the other hand, I tolerate much better. I’m no wimp when it comes to spice. I don’t want to eat anything that’s spicy-for-the-sake-of-being-spicy, but I’m usually among the first to try something that’s been deemed “hot” (other than wings, which I can’t stand, but that’s for other reasons).

Pork Loin with Calypso Scotch Bonnet Sauce

Spice is Nice

Capsaicin, the molecule responsible for creating the burning sensation we feel when we eat hot chili peppers, might bring a flush to your cheeks or a tingle to your lips, but it also causes a release of endorphins, which is part of the reason why “pepperheads” are willing to endure the pain: For the sake of the pleasure that follows.

Now, I’m no pepperhead, but when my boyfriend suggested we check out Heaven on Seven’s “Hot as a Mutha Monday” dinner, I didn’t even hesitate. I was totally ready to put my tastebuds to the test. Armed with generic Pepcid and high hopes, we gathered together a similarly minded group and headed to the restaurant’s Naperville location. This would be a different sort of eating competition: The first one to request a glass of milk loses.

The entire restaurant was festooned in streamers, with gold, teal and purple balloons tied to the assortment of hot sauce bottles stationed at every table. From the entry to the kitchen, six shelves on a single wall of the restaurant display thousands and thousands of hot sauces, called, appropriately enough, “The Wall of Pain.”

Our server, “E,” as she said everyone calls her, walked us through how the 7-course dinner would work and took our drink orders. Several of us asked for the Southern Limeade, which we were told would help quiet the heat, but boyfriend’s dad went straight for the fan and ordered the Cajun Martini (pretty much straight-up habanero-infused vodka).

“Why beat my thumb with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop,” boyfriend’s dad joked. I was impressed—and terrified at my chances of surviving the evening. Here’s a guy throwing gasoline on the fire and I’m already looking around for the nearest hose.

Tacos de Lengua with Chile de Arbol Sauce

The Road to Hell is Paved with Ghost Peppers

The first course was Sea Scallop Tostaditas (Tomatillo-pequin chile guacamole and jalapeno pesto on red corn tortillas), which warmed us up a teeny bit but didn’t even begin to hint at what was to follow. The seared scallop was cooked perfectly, with just enough crisp on the outside to complement the creamy inside.

Slices of fresh jalepenos garnished the dish, and several of the guys asked for the extra slices I left on my plate. Resisting the urge to prove my own machismo (and slightly concerned about my own future because I actually thought the jalepenos were kinda hot), I let them have the pepper rings and dove right into the next course: an innocent-looking cup of Ghost Chile Corn Chowder.

There was silence as we all became consumed by our efforts to mitigate the impending damage being done to our mouths. As it turns out, Ghost Chiles are far from the ethereal pretense I had assumed they would be: They’re wicked hot! Never again will I be so arrogant as to assume that any soup set in front of me is necessarily a shrinking violet.

These bad boys pack a rating of over 1 million Scoville units in any given chile (1,001,304 on average), making them the hottest pepper in the world. Those jalepenos from the first course? The highest Scoville rating they could have garnered would be in the 7-8,000 range. Even habeneros top out around 500,000.

At this point, we asked for an extra pitcher of water and I switched to beer, despite warnings that the carbonation might be painful. What I really wanted was to run outside and put my face in the snow. Or ask for a glass of milk. But fueled by a private promise that I wouldn’t force myself to finish every dish, and my boyfriend’s justification that just trying a dish constituted a victory over that particular course (I had eaten the entire cup of soup), I reached for a Kleenex and pushed on. I might have had the sniffles, but I wasn’t about to give up. This was only course #2, for crying out loud!

Lamb Chile Verde

Learned Helplessness

Our tongues still sizzling, the next dish, an Achiote-Chicken Sope, looked as deadly as the previous one had looked safe: Richly seasoned, shredded chicken, refried black beans  and pickled red onions on a properly chewy chile-corn sope, topped with what appeared to be straight-up lava. It looked dangerous, but my mouth was still singing with heat from the soup and I needed to keep up the pace if I was going to make it.

Yow!

Whereas the chile chowder had burned my tongue before I could even take a full bite, the heat from this sauce, described as a Red Sevina Habanero Salsa, was a slow, sneaky one. The first thing I tasted was a smoky, roasted pepper flavor, and then—not two seconds later—my lips were on fire. I took another bite, if just to prove to myself I could do it, and also to see if I could relive the smoky spice of the first fork-full (I couldn’t), but then I scraped most of the sauce off and finished the sope sans salsa.

The texture of the sope and the tender chicken were all I really wanted, and with just a tiny bit of the sauce left, they were near perfect. Red Sevina habaneros used to hold the title for hottest pepper, before the Ghost Chile showed up on the scene (They boast a whopping 580,000 Scoville units.), so even after removing most of the sauce I wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke billowing from my mouth.

Just as I was wondering if I was causing irreversible damage to my body, the next dish, Calypso Pork Loin over Mashed Potato, was set in front of me. I finished sucking on the ice chips in my mouth and timidly sampled the Calypso Scotch Bonnet Sauce, my tastebuds feeling a sudden kinship with the dogs from Martin Seligman’s learned helplessness experiments in the 60s.

My research tells me that the sauce should have registered somewhere between 100-300,000 Scoville units, but I tasted apricots and…well, mostly just apricots. There was a definite kick, but compared to what we had just been through, I could have drunk an entire cup of it without flinching. This course was also unusually large compared to the rest: Three thick slices of juicy pork loin and a large scoop of mashed potatoes. I went after the potatoes, finally dousing the last of the flames from the sope and steeling myself for what I was sure would be a sneak attack in the next course.

Habanero-Lime Cheesecake with Prickly Pear Sauce

Tamed by the Pepper

Surprisingly, nothing from there on out would compare to the 2nd and 3rd courses, heat-wise. The next offering was Tacos de Lengua (Corn tortillas with braised beef tongue), which came with the fiery Chile de Arbol sauce on the side and was one of my favorites. I’ll admit I skimped on the sauce, which would have made the tacos a bit more special than the equally good tongue tacos I’ve had elsewhere, but I was getting really full at this point and I wanted to completely enjoy my last few bites.

The final savory course was a Lamb Chile Verde (Lamb stew with roasted tomatillos, Anaheim, poblano and jalapeno chiles) served in a tiny bread bowl. The stew was earthy and rich, with a mighty kick of spice backing up the gamey flavor of the lamb. I could barely stomach a single bite because I was so stuffed, but I desperately wanted to cross the finish line after coming so far, so I took two nibbles before pushing my plate away.

Dessert was a Habanero-Lime Cheesecake with Prickly Pear Sauce. It was beautiful and appropriately spicy, with the flavor and texture of a creamy lemon bar, but I ended up packing most of it to go so I could try it again after my mouth had healed. We later shared the take-home cheesecake with boyfriend’s mom, who considers herself to be well acquainted with fiery food: She took one taste and exclaimed that she couldn’t believe how hot it was. Perhaps my tastebuds had been tamed by the pepper, because to me it still tasted pretty darn mild.

In the end, we all considered ourselves winners, even though most of us had been kicked out of the Clean Plate Club in the process. I’m looking forward to the next Hot as a Mutha Monday, but after weathering the truly brutal war my body waged against itself the next day, I can’t say I’m all that eager to relive Take it Down a Notch Tuesday.

Heaven on Seven announces its Hot as a Mutha dinner a month in advance, so keep an eye on the “Events” page of its website, or sign up for the newsletter and you’ll be notified as soon as the next dinner is scheduled.

All photos © Emily Szopa 2009