Hot Sauce Heaven

In my recent New York City adventure, I had the great good luck to cross the East River to Brooklyn, go straight to my girl Kelly's house, and have this guy make me breakfast.

 Hello Danny!

It was a breakfast fit for kings. And queens. And, you know, all the lowly jacks and their friends.

Plus?

Kelly. Who shared her bottle of Veuve Cliquot with me.

Hello, lovah.

 

Danny's plantanos were phenomenal, especially accompanied by all of Kelly and Danny's hot sauces. I tried them all, had lots of favorites, and had a moment when my brain said to me, "You have got to upgrade your hot sauce assemblage."

But then I went home, and Mistah and I celebrated my triumphant return with take-out steak burritos on Sunday night. We gathered all our hot sauces . . .

. . . and I realized our hot sauce bar isn't so shabby after all.

In fact, it's seriously awesome.

Especially when we remembered the secret, special homemade hot sauces that live in the fridge.

Hot Sauce Heaven, baby.