Now, I’m no stranger to hot food. I’ve been cooking with scotch bonnet peppers since I first came across them at the age of 15 (my family wishes I never had because I used to cook for everyone in the weekends since I was about 12). To this day, if I invite them round they plead for me to tone down the chilli noise. 

I’ve had Nigerian pepper soup, Korean chilli chicken, the notorious Holy F… sauce and enjoyed them all – even the crazy Heron Thai restaurant where the number one ingredient is chilli and everything else is a part-player.

But yesterday I was taken down by a chicken wing.

We were in a restaurant called Red Dog Saloon in Hoxton Square and I should have listened to the waitress when she tried to discourage us from trying the Chicken Wing Challenge, made with the hottest chillies in the world, the Naga from my native Bangladesh.

I once was given a hot sauce called Dante’s Inferno and one bite in and I felt I was there. At first you feel a sledge hammer has hit the back of your throat and then you realise that worse is to come. Second, your mouth is numbed, then your eyes water and then you sweat. All from one bite.

We gasped and asked them to be taken away and after a little while, our dignity was restored.

Later on the owner came and introduced himself to me and I told him of our wicked wing experience. I asked him how many he had eaten in one go and he said three but then added that his son had managed six. As he was quite young I imagine his son is a kid. I’m inclined to report him to the NSPCC. As well as one for children, perhaps there should also be a National Society for the Protection of Cruelty to Customers.