…wearing the Devil’s best dinner jacket
Some crosses just make sense, don’t they? You can almost see them coming before they happen. Devil’s Tongue × Orange Scorpion turned out to be one of those.
I didn’t know quite what to expect, but from the start it looked like it meant business — compact, bushy, proper dark green foliage, the kind of plant that looks after itself. It kept that strong, tidy shape all the way through, never lanky or awkward.
You can tell it’s inherited a lot from Devil’s Tongue — the shape, the structure, the sheer enthusiasm for producing flowers and pods. The fruit hangs in neat little clusters, pendular, often three or four together, like they’re queuing for attention. The pods themselves take that familiar wedge shape, though there’s plenty of variation: a few curve, a few twist, a few show that telltale scorpion kink in the tail.
The Orange Scorpion, on the other hand, is anything but polite. It’s part of that fierce Trinidadian lineage that gave us the Moruga Scorpion — the sort of chilli that makes headlines and melts blenders.
While the pods were filling out, I found myself wondering where this little hybrid’s fire comes from. The Devil’s Tongue, so the story goes, first appeared in Pennsylvania back in the ’90s — a natural offshoot of the Fatalii. Some people say it was first spotted in a field of habaneros on an Amish farm, though, like most chillies, there’s probably a bit of myth mixed in with the truth. Still, it’s a nice thought — the idea of a farmer finding something different in the rows and keeping a few seeds back, just in case.
Devil’s Tongue X Orange Scorpion
► Heat (Hotness): 9. It begins like the old 9-volt battery dare — that sharp, metallic tingle that makes your tongue sit up straight. A brief thrill of electricity, then the Scorpion’s slow voltage takes over. The burn is focused, deliberate, almost courteous, but behind the civility there’s mischief. It doesn’t rush to destroy — it waits, confident you’ll come to it in the end.
► Sweetness: 4. A faint sweetness glimmers under the surface, like burnt sugar on the rim of a martini glass. You catch it just before the heat decides you’ve had enough fun. The Devil’s Tongue contributes a small kindness here — a flash of mango or caramelised apricot — immediately cancelled by the Scorpion, who finds sentimentality embarrassing.
► Fruitiness: 7. Plenty of bright, tropical warmth — guava, lime, maybe a wink of pineapple — but never carefree. The fruitiness comes and goes, slipping behind the heat like a nervous actor missing cues. Still, it lends a sense of sunshine to the pain, which is something.
► Texture (Firmness): 5. Firm, waxy pods that slice cleanly and stay respectable in the pan. The flesh has discipline; the seeds cling in orderly ranks, fully aware of the chaos they represent. Nothing soggy, nothing slack — a model of restraint right up until you taste it.
► Juiciness: 3. This one doesn’t gush. The flesh keeps its composure, offering just enough moisture to carry the flavour but not enough to douse the spark. It’s the chilli equivalent of a stiff upper lip — dry, dignified, slightly judgemental.
► Aftertaste (Complexity): 8. Long after the heat fades, a curious calm remains — smoky, woody, faintly herbal. There’s a suggestion of dried fruit and firewood, maybe even a trace of metal, as if the chilli’s still thinking about that battery. Hours later, it’s still there: the gentle hum of something that refuses to be entirely switched off.
It’s got that same bright, fruity chinense character as the Fatalii, but a bit more compact and polite. Its name came from those long, curved pods — they really do look like a devil’s tongue, flicking out from the plant in all directions.
The Orange Scorpion, on the other hand, is anything but polite. It’s part of that fierce Trinidadian lineage that gave us the Moruga Scorpion — the sort of chilli that makes headlines and melts blenders. Trinidad has been growing chillies like that for generations, long before anyone bothered measuring Scoville units. Those old lines were selected for flavour as much as heat, used in seasonings and preserved in ground spice pastes — proper heritage stock. Put the two together and you get this hybrid that’s both charming and dangerous.
By the way, I’m putting the Devil’s Tongue × Scorpion on offer at just £1.95 with any order this week — a small price for something that could probably power a torch. If you’ve already placed an order there’s no need to pay postage twice — we’ll refund it (just leave a note at checkout). That offer will hold for any additional plug orders right up until dispatch begins at the start of the season.
The colour’s gorgeous — deep orange, glossy, almost plastic-looking — and the flavour’s pure chinense: rich habanero fruitiness with a sharp citrus edge. But the heat… there’s no denying where that comes from. It’s hotter than a habanero by some distance — I’d guess around 600,000 to 700,000 Scovilles.
It creeps up on you, starting bright and cheerful, then deepening into something that makes you stop and think about your life choices.
Growing-wise, it’s been a dream. One of my earliest chinense to flower and fruit, and easily one of the most vigorous. I grew one under glass and one outside on the patio — both did well, which still surprises me. Five years ago I wouldn’t have risked growing a chinense outdoors in Sussex. But here we are, climate doing what it’s doing, and I’m picking ripe habaneros, ajís, and even 7 Pots from plants that never saw the inside of a greenhouse. Smaller, yes — but perfectly formed and just as hot.
By late summer, the Devil’s Tongue × Orange Scorpion was heavy with fruit, and what a sight — clusters of bright orange pods against dark green leaves, glowing like they’d been varnished. Fruity, floral, and with a serious kick.
They’d make a super-coloured jelly — maybe with yellow bell peppers and carrots to mellow the heat — a real stunner of a gift jar, sunshine in glass. It’s a proper little hybrid: easy to grow, eager to please, and just the right side of wicked.
Don’t be fooled by the tidy shape and good manners — Devil’s Tongue × Scorpion brings a clean, electric heat and a bright golden glow. Ideal for patios, windowsills, and anyone who likes their chillies punctual. Use fresh, cooked, or dried — it behaves beautifully.
If you’ve already placed an order there’s no need to pay postage twice — we’ll refund it (just leave a note at checkout). That offer will hold for any additional plug orders right up until dispatch begins at the start of the season.
World of Chillies was set up by Sarah Hunt in 2011 to promote chilli growing and the enjoyment of everything hot and spicy.
Chilli Plants
Tomatoes
Chilli Seeds
Delivery Info
About Us
Contact Us
Sign Up Chilli Club
Privacy
Terms & Conditions
▶ 1. Heat (Hotness): The defining characteristic for most people. Is it mild, medium, or hot? How does the heat develop—immediate or lingering?
▶ 2. Sweetness: The balance of natural sugars. Some chillies have a sweetness that complements their heat and makes them versatile in cooking.
▶ 3. Fruitiness: The aromatic, flavour-forward profile. Does it taste tropical, citrusy, or like berries? This quality often gives chillies their distinctive edge.
▶ 4. Crunchiness or Firmness (texture): Freshness matters. Is the chilli crisp and crunchy, soft and pliable, or somewhere in between?
▶ 5. Juiciness: How much moisture does the chilli release when bitten into? This can influence its suitability for fresh eating or cooking.
▶ 6. Aftertaste (Complexity): What lingers after the initial bite? Is there a smokiness, an earthiness, or a clean, simple finish? This separates "nice" chillies from truly memorable ones.
▶ Schedule of Dispatches . We’re pleased to let you know that we’re preparing to dispatch our first plug plants!. Please follow the link for a rough schedule, but please note that we’ll send your order once everything in it is ready. This ensures you receive the best possible plug plants—so if there’s a slight delay, rest assured you haven’t been forgotten. ▶ MORE INFORMATION