Pepper X Marks the Spot as South Carolina Pepper Expert Scorches His Own Guinness Book Heat Record 

Ed Currie holds a handful of his Pepper X peppers on Tuesday, Oct. 10, 2023, in Fort Mill, S.C. (AP)
Ed Currie holds a handful of his Pepper X peppers on Tuesday, Oct. 10, 2023, in Fort Mill, S.C. (AP)
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Pepper X Marks the Spot as South Carolina Pepper Expert Scorches His Own Guinness Book Heat Record 

Ed Currie holds a handful of his Pepper X peppers on Tuesday, Oct. 10, 2023, in Fort Mill, S.C. (AP)
Ed Currie holds a handful of his Pepper X peppers on Tuesday, Oct. 10, 2023, in Fort Mill, S.C. (AP)

Ed Currie, the South Carolina hot pepper expert who crossbred and grew the Carolina Reaper that’s hotter than most pepper sprays police use to subdue unruly criminals, has broken his own world record with a pepper that’s three times hotter.

Pepper X was publicly named the hottest pepper in the world on Oct. 9 by the Guinness Book of World Records, beating out the Reaper in Currie’s decadelong hunt to perfect a pepper that he says provides “immediate, brutal heat.”

Currie said when he first tried Pepper X, it did more than warm his heart.

“I was feeling the heat for three-and-a-half hours. Then the cramps came,” said Currie, one of only five people so far to eat an entire Pepper X. “Those cramps are horrible. I was laid out flat on a marble wall for approximately an hour in the rain, groaning in pain.”

Heat in peppers is measured in Scoville Heat Units. Zero is bland, and a regular jalapeno pepper registers about 5,000 units. A habanero, the record-holder about 25 years ago, typically tops 100,000. The Guinness Book of World Records lists the Carolina Reaper at 1.64 million units.

Pepper X’s record is an average of 2.69 million units. By comparison, pepper spray commonly holstered by police is around 1.6 million units. Bear spray advertises at 2.2 million units.

Pepper X has been in the works since Currie last set the hottest pepper record in 2013 with the Carolina Reaper, a bright red knobby fruit with what aficionados call a scorpion tail. The goal was to offer an extremely hot pepper flavored with sweetness.

Pepper X is greenish-yellow, doesn’t have the same shelf appeal and carries an earthy flavor once its heat is delivered. It’s a crossbreed of a Carolina Reaper and what Currie mysteriously classifies as a “pepper that a friend of mine sent me from Michigan that was brutally hot.”

The chemical in peppers that causes the burn is called capsaicin and not dangerous unless pounds of it are consumed. Even so, the minds of humans and other mammals perceive capsaicin as a threat and send a strong burning signal to the body. Because birds don’t have the same reaction, they are able spread pepper seeds while sparing the plant.

The burning sensation spurred in humans also releases endorphins and dopamine into the body. Currie, who went all in to growing peppers after kicking drug and alcohol addictions, considers that kick a natural high. He shares his peppers with medical researchers, hoping they can use them to cure disease and help people who suffer chronic pain or discomfort.

For Currie, having the hottest pepper in the world has been a two-decade obsession. It took 10 years to get Pepper X from the first crossbreed experiment to the record, including five years of testing to prove it was a different plant with a different fruit and documenting its average heat over different plants and generations.

“We covered the genetics, we covered the chemistry, we covered the botany,” he said.

Currie, who is trying to build an empire of hot pepper sauces through his PuckerButt company, said he also learned plenty of business lessons during the past decade. While the Carolina Reaper drew much attention, much of it was not proper — or profitable.

Currie allowed people to grow the peppers without protecting his ideas. His lawyers have counted more than 10,000 products that use the Carolina Reaper name, or its other intellectual property, without permission.

Currie is protecting Pepper X. He said no seeds will be released until he is sure his children, his workers — many of whom are on their second chances like him — and their families can fully earn the rewards of his work.

“Everybody else made their money off the Reaper. It’s time for us to reap the benefits of the hard work I do,” Currie said.

That work includes dozens of fields across York County, secret greenhouses where Currie works on peppers to prevent them from being stolen and a PuckerButt store in Fort Mill where Currie works on dozens of sauce ideas that range from mild to blazing hot. He also sells his peppers to companies worldwide.

Challenges involving extremely spicy foods have made headlines after a chipmaker pulled its products following a teen’s death.

Currie wants people to eat peppers and thinks they can benefit from the rush that comes after the burn. He calls most hot pepper challenges stupid and cautions pepper peekers against being overly ambitious and reaching too quickly for a Carolina Reaper or Pepper X.

“You build up a tolerance," Currie said, later hinting that more pepper heat may be bubbling up from the fields, labs and chillers that he won’t let fans, reporters or even the bankers helping his business expand see.

“Is this the pinnacle?” Currie said of Pepper X, a mischievous smile warming his face. “No, it’s not the pinnacle.”



In Beirut, a Photographer's Frozen Moments Slow Down Time and Allow the Contemplation of Destruction

A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
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In Beirut, a Photographer's Frozen Moments Slow Down Time and Allow the Contemplation of Destruction

A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)

We watch video after video, consuming the world on our handheld devices in bites of two minutes, one minute, 30 seconds, 15. We turn to moving pictures — “film” — because it comes the closest to approximating the world that we see and experience. This is, after all, 2024, and video in our pocket — ours, others', everyone's — has become our birthright.
But sometimes — even in this era of live video always rolling, always recording, always capturing — sometimes the frozen moment can enter the eye like nothing else. And in the process, it can tell a larger story that echoes long after the moment was captured. That's what happened this past week in Beirut, through the camera lens of Associated Press photographer Bilal Hussein and the photographs he captured.
When Hussein set up his camera outside an evacuated Beirut apartment building Tuesday after Israel announced it would be targeted as part of military operations against Hezbollah, he had one goal in mind — only one. "All I thought of," he says, “was photographing the missile while it was coming down.”
He found a safe spot. He ensured a good angle. He wasn't stressed, he said; like many photographers who work in such environments, he had been in situations like this one before. He was ready.
When the attack came — a bomb, not a missile in the end — Hussein swung into action. And, unsurprisingly for a professional who has been doing this work for two decades, he did exactly what he set out to do.
Time slowed down
The sequence of images he made bursts with the explosive energy of its subject matter.
In one frame, the bomb hangs there, a weird and obtrusive interloper in the scene. It is not yet noticed by anyone around it, ready to bring its destruction to a building that, in moments, will no longer exist. The building's balconies, a split-second from nonexistence, are devoid of people as the bomb finds its mark.
These are the kind of moments that video, rolling at the speed of life or even in slow motion, cannot capture in the same way. A photo holds us in the scene, stops time, invites a viewer to take the most chaotic of events and break it down, looking around and noticing things in a strangely silent way that actual life could not.
In another frame, one that happened micro moments after the first, the building is in the process of exploding. Let's repeat that for effect, since even as recently as a couple generations ago photographs like this were rare: in the process of exploding.
Pieces of building are shooting out in all directions, in high velocity — in real life. But in the image they are frozen, outward bound, hanging in space awaiting the next seconds of their dissolution — just like the bomb that displaced them was doing milliseconds before. And in that, a contemplation of the destruction — and the people it was visited upon — becomes possible.
Tech gives us new prisms to see the world
The technology to grab so many images in the course of little more than one second — and do it in such clarity and high resolution — is barely a generation old.
So to see these “stills,” as journalists call them, come together to paint a picture of an event is a combination of artistry, intrepidity and technology — an exercise in freezing time, and in giving people the opportunity to contemplate for minutes, even hours, what took place in mere seconds. This holds true for positive things that the camera captures — and for visitations of violence like this one as well.
Photography is random access. We, the viewers of it, choose how to see it, process it, digest it. We go backward and forward in time, at will. We control the pace and the speed at which dizzying images hurtle at us. And in that process, something unusual for this era emerges: a bit of time to think.
That, among many other things, is the enduring power of the still image in a moving-picture world — and the power of what Bilal Hussein captured on that clear, sunny day in Beirut.