I grew a Cayanne, a Thai Dragon, and two Habanero plants this year. Seattle's 2003 summer was very hot, and the plants are still producing peppers in October.

One day I found a single green Habanero pepper abandoned on the top of the fence near the plants with tooth marks in it. Other than that one time, I didn't have any problems with the resident squirrel stealing the fruit.

The Cayennes came out large, sweet and mild. The Thais were much smaller, but very hot. The Habaneros were my first experience with fresh Habanero peppers. They smelled fantastic; a bit like a tart grated orange peel.
Biting into a Habanero yielded a momentary taste much like what they smelled like, and then everything changed. I saw God, and He was vengeful. It was like trying to eat the sun, or falling into a soft pillow of molten glass. After the hiccups subsided, I felt relaxed and happy and drenched in sweat.

I chopped up a bunch of Habaneros and a few Thais and Cayennes for color, a little onion, a half a cup or so of olive oil, and a splash of lemon juice and tossed it all into a blender. No clue what I was doing, but it came out great. A half a teaspoon of the stuff in a bowl of soup infuses it with plenty of delicious Habanero heat and puts me on the nod. Habanero tastes much different than any other pepper I've ever had. As long as it's not overdone, the tartness and almost orange citrus-ness of the pepper is not overwhelmed by its furious heat.

Freshly chopped Habaneros on the cutting board smell really good and not at all hot. The first time I put a batch through the blender, I popped the top off and took a whiff, expecting more of the same. Don't do that.

Taa-daaa! The final product, in all its glory. Hmmm. This doesn't look nearly as appetizing as it really is.