Holy cow, Scotch Bonnets are hot. Around the quarter-million Scoville mark, up there with Habanero; cf. wussy Jalapeno at 2,500 or so.
They also have a delightful fruity taste. No, really, they do. In those brief moments between stuffing one’s face with yoghurt in a vain attempt to quell the sensation of imminent death, there’s something almost summer-fruit about them.
I love them.