Super Super Hot, i.e. my mouth

I am a woman of extremes. My mouth bears the brunt of this affliction. I routinely peel layers of skin from its roof, evidence to the temperature at which I like to ingest my beverages. I make tea, add a few drops of milk, then pop the mug back in the microwave for a minute or two. My teeth suffer from my love of frozen fruit. I am convinced that the next time a cavity needs filling I will require only the slightest injection of Novocaine, my gums having received sufficient below-zero training from constant munching on icy bananas and melon. Scalding hot or popsiclesque; these are the only temperatures on my thermometer.

One evening, after I had successfully nuked a cup of milky tea, my friend looked on in alarm. “Is that safe?” He was staring at me as though I’d announced Pocari Sweat was my favourite Japanese amino drink. “You realize microwaves get things super super hot, right?” Although I ignored him and continued to sip away (burning my lips on the rim of the cup, admittedly), I began to wonder just how hot I enjoyed my beverages. How hot was “super super hot?”

Clearly, an experiment was in order.

I poured myself a mug of milk and zapped it in the microwave for 1 minute and 45 seconds, my usual milk-nuking time. I tasted, deemed the milk tepid, and put the cup in for another 33 seconds. After another tasting, I decided the milk still wasn’t hot enough. In it went for an additional 11 seconds. A final tasting – the temperature, as Goldilocks says, was just right.

The moment of truth. I rummaged around in my utensil door and located a meat thermometer. Was my milk the temperature required to cook ham, beef rare, beef medium, beef well done? I watched as the red stick rose past ham, beef, and pork; it finally settled at 180 degrees F, (82 degrees C) the temperature that renders lamb safe to consume.

There you have it. Super super hot = Love Angel Milk, Baby.

-Andrea