So we get checked in at our motel somewhere in the Adirondacks and head out for dinner. Mexican sounded good to us. After a 20 minute wait just to get a seat, we’re ready to order. What to get?? Well I’m not in a very Mexican mood so I order something from the Gringo corner. I’ll take the “Wing Dinger” meal…hot wings.
Now I like hot food, and have often bragged about my spice endurance level. Nevertheless, my heart quavered a bit when that pile of sizzling hot wings landed in front of me. After a prayer of thanks followed by one for protection, I dug in.
The first one hit mildly. Not bad, not bad at all. So I thought. The second one hit harder, and my tongue began a slow, intensifying burn. Before tearing into the third I surreptitiously stole a swig of Coke and nibbled on the rice and beans. Ahh, much better. Ready for round three. Funny how that third one triggered the old sinuses. Suddenly, wells of water sprang up in my eyes. My nose followed suit. More coke. More beans. Another bite. More tears. More sniffles.
Folks, it was bad. After choking down five or six (I lost track in the ensuing haze), I threw in the towel.
I came, I saw, I was conquered.
Next time I’ll go with good old American barbecue.