Philly Plain Dealer

Everyone who has been to a Phillies game knows that it’s about more than baseball, going to a Phillies game is an experience. If you just wanted to watch a baseball game, you could do that at home for free. People go to the game to be a part of the baseball culture, and a quintessential part of this culture is ballpark food. Citizens Bank Park specifically has incredible food. However, there is a deceptive new face among the condiment stations. An interloper, if you will: Carlos’ Consuming Fire Hot Sauce is now available in a condiment pump next to the ketchup, mustard, and relish. 

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Consuming Fire? That sounds very spicy. With a name like that, how could you be deceived?” I’ll tell you how: the side of the dispenser has a heat scale, of which this new hot sauce ranks LOW on. But it isn’t LOW in heat at all. It’s hot as hell. Like, normal-citizens-should-not-be-consuming-this hot. If someone’s grandmother ate this, I think it would kill them. I’m serious. It’s hot. 

Let me preface this next part by saying this: I love hot sauce. I love spicy things. I eat spicy stuff multiple times a week. When I go to my local Indian restaurant, I order the highest spice level, which is spicy enough to warrant the server asking if I’m sure that’s what I want. So, when I tell you I had the displeasure of sampling this hot sauce during this last home stand, which nearly sent me into a mental crisis, take heed of this warning. 

There I was, sitting on the scoreboard porch during the Phillies 7-2 rout of the Guardians Saturday night when I decided I wanted a little chicken tender action. And as I walk over to get my ketchup, I see the aforementioned hot sauce. Naturally I put it all over my fries and tenders, excited to try it. But as I return to my seat and begin to chow down, I realize the mistake I’d just made. Soon, the crowd’s roar became muffled, and a high-pitched whine drowned-out the soundscape around me. It was like that scene in The Sopranos when Tony passes out after the ducks fly away from his pool. The burn was all-consuming. Not even the jumbo, overpriced ballpark beer could quell the raging fire in my mouth. It felt like someone sprayed bear mace in my mouth. I wasn’t having fun.

My experience was not a unique one, I would soon find out. After I finished my first beer, I needed a second one, as I was still in agonizing pain. And while I was in line, a guy behind me was explaining to his friends that he is suffering the exact same fate I was. I had to commiserate with him, and we both agreed that the dispenser was very misleading. On my way out of the stadium, I stopped to take a picture of the malicious dispenser. A food service worker was cleaning up, and I let her know that the sauce was far too spicy for normal people.