The things in the world that I don't understand are many-storied and legion, but among the most baffling are people who brag about their ability to eat spicy food and people who like vodka. I mean, I do like food with ridiculous Scoville ratings as much as the next person. I have plenty of friends who love the kinds of meals that you order to the tune of frantic cursing and calls for gas masks from the kitchen. But they don't pretend they're good at eating them. The whole point of absurdly hot food is not to brag about being able to withstand it -- it's to give in to the pain, respect it, and learn to know the value of a good book located within hand's reach of the toilet. I've personally pooped a ghost pepper for two hours with a Dan Brown novel as my only entertainment, and I'll freely admit that I had tears in my eyes every last second of the ordeal. (The pooping hurt pretty bad, too.) The thing is, only a total fuckwad would pretend that the naga jolokia-drenched burger he's "nonchalantly" consuming is no big deal.
As for vodka, it's basically my airline peanuts: I can consume it just fine if I have to, but ultimately I just don't understand the concept. There are exactly three types of vodka: the horrible battery acid variety that's just one step up from pruno and may or may not make you blind, the sort-of-kind-of-potable affordable one that tastes like grain and ass, and the high-end vodka that tastes of absolutely nothing at all. Sure, a decent vodka is handy in drinks, but so are many other things that actually taste like something.
Now, combine the two at their absolute worst and you get this fucking thing:
Via Master of Malt
Cons: Someone has probably received a blow job for daring to drink this.
Pros: The person giving said blow job might have had a taste as well.
The 250,000 Scovilles Naga Chilli Vodka is custom made to appeal to the caveman instincts of every wannabe alpha male in a 50-mile radius, from its skull-adorned bottle and a lead cork strapped shut with "industrial-grade sealing wire" to the ridiculously overdone hotness (which, of course, the alcohol won't help one bit) and the "Seriously, bro, don't even buy this, you can't handle it" attitude of the maker's website. This is the last thing in the world that's meant for shots, yet you just know pretty much all of it is taken as them by douchebags who then proceed to nonchalantly pretend they're not choking and shaking and sweating capsaicin for half an hour. They could rename this shit "Chad Magnet" and be done with it.
Luckily, the product's douchiness does come with an option for healthy abuse. As one reviewer puts it:
Via Master of Malt
As a great philosopher once said: "If you can't beat 'em, make 'em poop fire."
If you're a drinker, beer is good. If you're an eater, food is good. Such are the basic tenets of life, and if you disagree with them, feel free to sample the chili vodka in the previous entry and try to argue the point afterward.
Still, there are many things in the world that really shouldn't be mixed with each other, and I can't help feeling that beer and food are among those things. I'm not saying that you shouldn't enjoy a beer with your pizza. In fact, you go do that right now, and don't let anyone say otherwise. However, there's a line you may not want to cross -- say, putting beer and pizza in a blender and attempting to chug the end result as a creepy beer-pizza (beerza?) smoothie.
After all, why would you commit such a sin? The beer manufacturers are waaaay ahead of you. Meet Mamma Mia Pizza Beer:
Mamma Mia Pizza Beer!
This inexplicable concoction aims to bring the taste of pizza to beer, and, if Ratebeer.com is any judge, it's actually doing a pretty good job of bringing the general oregano breadiness of the real thing to the table. Of course, some reviews also state that it pretty much sucks at its first and arguably only function, which is being a beer that people can drink.
And of course, the beer-pizza thing is far from the only one to breach the line between food and beverage. There's Porterhouse Oyster Stout, which achieves its characteristic seafood-y sweetness by, uh, chucking a bunch of oysters in the conditioning tank? That's ... that's fine, I guess, unless you ask the ton of brewers who will shit a brick if a beer is brewed with anything that isn't water, hops, or malt, or are real allergic and drunkenly assume the whole "oyster" thing is just a cute name.
If seafood beer is not your thing, there's always the aptly named Lips of Faith Coconut Curry beer:
Via New Belgium
Feel free to imagine the taste.
Hell, even the sacred bacon isn't safe from beer Frankensteining. In fact, it falls victim to what may be the most terrifying food-beer splice of them all, Rogue's Voodoo Doughnut Bacon Maple Ale:
Via Dude I Want That
Pictured: Proof that too many good things can indeed make a terrible one.
Look, I'm a man of simple tastes. I like my doughnuts round and doughy, my bacon salty and crispy, and my coconut curry in the orbit of Saturn. None of these things should be mixed with beer, for that way lies only madness.
Besides, these things cost like $15 a pop where I live, and I disagree on principle with alcoholic beverages that will ruin my finances before they even get to my liver. Now piss off and leave me alone with my bacon coffee oatmeal stout.
It has a palate of coffee, scorched pig, and fiscal ruination.
Pauli Poisuo is a Cracked columnist and freelance editor who sometimes starts screaming at his juice for no reason. Follow him on Twitter.
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