By KAREN MADORIN
When most folks think of autumn scents, I’d bet bonfires and firepits, hot cocoa, freshly raked leaves, and savory soup simmering come to mind.
When I think of this season, memories of the sharp whang of horseradish and jalapeños tap dancing in spiked heels along cells lining nostrils and lungs fill my brain. Autumn provides the perfect time to clear sinuses and respiratory systems using acrid horseradish and jalapeño fumes.
Digging horseradish roots triggers zero alarms. We don’t wear protective gloves for that stage of the process. It’s grinding root that sets tears and snot to flood stage.
So why would somebody do this if it makes them cry?
Have you tried freshly ground horseradish on roast, steak, prime rib, or holiday ham? It sends taste buds into interstellar orbit and begs the diner to dredge the next bite through crunchy delight.
That said, the whole time we eat this member of the Brassicaceae family, both of us continually wipe eyes and noses, and then grin through tears in anticipation of the next mouthful. It’s a full-frontal sensory delight, and freshly ground horseradish root is worth it.
Ironically, our first home had a horseradish patch, but I was unaware of the culinary bliss I missed. I never harvested a single root. Somewhere over the years, I discovered store-bought horseradish and loved it. Later, a friend convinced us to grow and grind our own. There’s no going back once you drag a fork full of perfectly cooked protein through fresh ground horseradish.
Unfortunately, I didn’t read the instructions that said one should open all available windows before grinding until after I made our first batch. Had fresh air streamed in to tone that powerful scent, I might have saved lung capacity and used far fewer tissues to wipe streaming eyes and nose. The good news was that my hands didn’t burn for days.
Speaking of burning hands, somewhere decades back, I learned wearing vinyl or rubber gloves when splitting and seeding jalapeños is essential.
One summer, I attacked a pail of potent spicy torpedoes barehanded. By the time I halved and seeded them, EVERY nerve cell in my hands was afire. Nothing—soap, milk, vinegar, cortisone, hand cream—nothing controlled the heat! Chopping and slicing them to freeze was an exercise in agony. I never made that mistake again, even when dicing one or two.
Recently, I harvested every pepper big enough to pick before an impending freeze. I wanted to make jalapeño cream cheese bites for the annual Wild Game Feed and decided to seed and chop all at the same time. I measured what I needed for my recipe and bagged and froze the rest for later.
It was 32 degrees outside, so the windows were shut. Savory biscuits baking, warming the kitchen enough that potent fumes rose to breathing apparatus level. In no time, jalapeño vapors unclogged every sinus cavity and both lungs. There went a roll of paper towels.
I won’t quit grinding horseradish or chopping peppers, but I’ll do it with open windows, even if forced to wear long johns and coveralls.
Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover and sixth-generation Kansan.