I was born in the land of wine. My father makes wine just as my grandfather did. My uncles, friends, and even my neighbor, they all make wine. But ever since I was little and put away my pacifiers, I dreamed of growing up to plant chili peppers. And when the day came that I had to make wine, it never excited me nor did I find it interesting. Even without anyone knowing, I kept dreaming alone that one day, I would make hot sauce. Among the vines, I planted that forbidden plant, and on full moon nights, just before the harvest, I would slip out the window and go pick the most beautiful of the hidden chilies. I added salt and the brandy that my father kept in the wine press, and I stored it all in a barrel that no one was going to use. And so a year went by, without anyone suspecting I was making the hot sauce I dared to dream of. One day my father remembered, perhaps out of curiosity, to taste from that barrel that had been ignored for so long, and even with me by his side, he put his finger under the tap; I remained silent, and he tasted it suspiciously:

- F******! S***! He said. – What is this stored here?

- It didn't have a name, Father. But now, it's Malcriado!