A dollar's worth of wings
By
I had the first line of this story planned since the idea came to me. It would go something like ‘It was the worst idea, with regard to food, I’ve ever had’. But after spending the dollar given to me, and an additional 20 cents, on three Blazin’ wings at Buffalo Wild Wings, the heat wasn’t as bad as I had feared.
I used to frequent Buffalo Wild Wings on Tuesday nights to take advantage of the specials. In fact, when I was a kid, my brother, father and I would order wings from many local restaurants and wing joints to see whose were the best. I am not a wing connoisseur but I appreciate a good batch of wings.
As I’ve grown up, my taste for spice has conceded defeat to heartburn and sleepless nights running to and from the bathroom. So when Tuesday and an invite to Buffalo Wild Wings rolled around, testing my mouth, stomach, internal organs and general bathroom etiquette seemed like the only logical thing to do.
I left for the restaurant and picked up a few friends on the way, none of whom had any idea what I was planning. My nerves began to fray until I couldn’t contain my anxiety anymore and told the group of my plan to transcribe my experiences with the hottest wings on the menu.
Laughter, profanity and questions like ‘why?’ filled my ears. I had no response other than a goofy looking smile and half sincere laughter. Soon my friend Mike, who knows exactly how to eat spicy foods, explained exactly how to eat the Beelzebub of wings. I took short mental notes but disregarded most of it. Then the wings came.
Mike then held a review session on how to eat the wings. ‘Nuts to this,’ I thought, ‘I’ll do this how I want.’ I went for the Blazin’ wings straight away. The first bite was eerily calm. ‘Some story this will turn out to be,’ I thought, ‘these aren’t even hot.’ In the back of my mind I knew it was a bad idea to challenge the spice gods so I kept my mouth shut and plugged away on the second wing in hopes I could outrun the heat building in my mouth.
The chemical reaction in my mouth began to intensify midway through the second wing. Breathing through my mouth had become an issue, with every breath intake the chemical reaction intensified. At this point I stopped taking mental notes on the taste of the sauce and what the burn felt like. I was in survival mode. Get the meat off the bone, chew it to a point where I could swallow it with a slightly less than 50 percent chance of choking and move to the final wing.
The burn had escalated to the point where I didn’t feel it could get any worse. I was partially right; my mouth didn’t burn any worse. Then I noticed I was sweating profusely, crying and my lips felt as though they had been in the sun for three days with little to no protection. ‘Quick,’ I mumbled to myself, ‘finish the last one and then eat some potato wedges and have a big drink.’
I discarded my usual habit of licking my fingers clean and instead just mashed up whatever napkin was available to me in my hands before reaching for a fistful of potato wedges and gulp after gulp of cold beer. At this point I realized I had made a critical error in judgment by ordering a Budweiser. The waitress said it was the beer of the month and who was I to argue with her? I paid for that mistake.
The burn subsided after wedges and beer in increments of between five and ten seconds before returning. The sweating did not end, so I grabbed a napkin and tried to wipe my face clean of sweat, snot running down my nose, tears flowing from my eyes and any excess sauce that would likely start to burn momentarily. In my attempt I managed to smear sauce an inch below my right eye, causing a burn that would last the rest of my meal.
For fifteen minutes, I ate potato wedges, sipped beer and held the cool liquid in my mouth. I asked others if they were going to finish their celery sticks and bleu cheese. My lips and the point below my eye continued to burn but my mouth was useful for breathing again. Another five minutes of casual potato-wedge eating and beer drinking and I was ready to eat the remainder of my meal, which consisted of a range of milder wings.
So here I sit, three hours later. My mouth feels rather rubbery, my lips mostly numb from a combination of chemical burns and medicated Chap Stick and the spot below my eye is red and tingling. It wasn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had with regard to food, but at this point spending a dollar at the Grand Ole Creamery sounds a lot more enjoyable.