Loose Wing Nuts
I’m always on the lookout for the big idea that will vault me onto Forbes’ Richest People list, thus enabling my kids to grow up so pampered and arrogant that they’ll make Paris Hilton look like a monastic postulant.
I think I may have found that idea: An utterly impregnable, hermetically sealed see-through “jacket” for a cell phone. It would allow the phone to be used without fear of damage or defacement from hands – or other phone-dialing appendages, such as tongues, noses, and elbows – that are coated with weapons-grade chicken wing sauce.
This idea came to me as I set my family loose at the National Buffalo Wing Festival, where I permanently gummed up the works of my cell phone by handling it with various appendages dripping with caustic wing sauces named for highly corrosive forces, like “Toxic Waste,” and “Martha Stewart’s Temper.”
This was the 6th annual National Buffalo Wing Festival, and it was the biggest ever. There were 75,000 attendees, and by carefully tracking the amount of time we waited in lines, No. 3 son calculated that we stood behind 74,997 of them.
I should point out that the name of this event employs a term – “Buffalo Wing” – that no citizen of Buffalo ever uses. In the city where the dish was born, people call them “wings.” Period. If you call them “Buffalo wings” in front of a Buffalonian, he or she will admonish you. (Note: To avoid a loud admonishment, it’s best to give the admonisher three or four of your wings.)
Three or four wings per person wouldn’t have cut it at this year’s Wing Fest. On the first day alone, the crowds went through 30,000. Tons, that is. The event organizers had to scramble around to get another 24,000 tons for the second day. Putting this in layman’s terms, the total wing consumption for the event nearly equaled the weight of Donald Trump’s ego.
I like my wings pretty hot, but my family’s preferences are all over the map:
~ No. 5 son (age 6) doesn’t care to abuse his mucous membranes, so he plays it safe and munches barbecue wings.
~ No. 3 son (age 12) and my wife go for wings that deliver a mild heat, sometimes risking a medium.
~ No. 4 (age 10) and No. 2 (age 21) are comfortable with mediums, although they’ll nibble the occasional hottie. (Reminder, we’re talking wings here.)
~ No. 1 (age 23) eagerly gobbles platefuls of the hottest wings available. I once pilfered a wing from him and regretted it for days; I learned later the sauce was made from Mace.
At the fest, No. 4 son and my 10-year old nephew decided to try a couple really hot varieties, including one called “Afterburner.” They kind of shrugged while chewing them, saying they weren’t very flavorful. But, in the same way that the most intense flame is invisible, the heat in these wings had nothing to do with flavor. Shortly, the Afterburners kicked in, leaving them wailing that their throats and tongues had been caramelized. They eventually felt better, after the affected areas were treated for a solid week with hourly applications of Dippin’ Dots.
It’s de rigueur these days for any “National” event honoring a foodstuff to have a contest involving mass consumption of that foodstuff. Naturally, the Wing Fest holds the official United States Wing Eating Contest. It was won this year by the famous speed-eater Sonya Thomas, known as “The Black Widow,” who scarfed over 5 pounds of wing meat in 12 minutes.
The next day, Thomas also won the Festival’s “Buffet Bowl” eating contest, packing away almost six pounds of wings, roast beef, pierogies, and pizza. Surprisingly, she passed on the “Blue Cheese Bowl” event, which involved “bobbing” for wings in a giant vat of blue cheese dip. She gave some flimsy excuse about “feeling a little full.”
For taking both titles, Thomas won a prize coveted by competitive eaters everywhere: a lifetime supply of coronary stents.
While Thomas and the other contestants had their wings served to them, we regular folks had to queue up. The lines generally moved pretty quickly, although, unfortunately, the slowest was the last one we stood in, when No. 4 and his cousin were suffering the worst Afterburnereffects of their hot wing experiment. But we endured the wait in order to secure a treat that briefly soothed their scalded taste buds on the drive home: wings coated in Dippin’ Dots.
# # #
TakeFiveT5@yahoo.com
I think I may have found that idea: An utterly impregnable, hermetically sealed see-through “jacket” for a cell phone. It would allow the phone to be used without fear of damage or defacement from hands – or other phone-dialing appendages, such as tongues, noses, and elbows – that are coated with weapons-grade chicken wing sauce.
This idea came to me as I set my family loose at the National Buffalo Wing Festival, where I permanently gummed up the works of my cell phone by handling it with various appendages dripping with caustic wing sauces named for highly corrosive forces, like “Toxic Waste,” and “Martha Stewart’s Temper.”
This was the 6th annual National Buffalo Wing Festival, and it was the biggest ever. There were 75,000 attendees, and by carefully tracking the amount of time we waited in lines, No. 3 son calculated that we stood behind 74,997 of them.
I should point out that the name of this event employs a term – “Buffalo Wing” – that no citizen of Buffalo ever uses. In the city where the dish was born, people call them “wings.” Period. If you call them “Buffalo wings” in front of a Buffalonian, he or she will admonish you. (Note: To avoid a loud admonishment, it’s best to give the admonisher three or four of your wings.)
Three or four wings per person wouldn’t have cut it at this year’s Wing Fest. On the first day alone, the crowds went through 30,000. Tons, that is. The event organizers had to scramble around to get another 24,000 tons for the second day. Putting this in layman’s terms, the total wing consumption for the event nearly equaled the weight of Donald Trump’s ego.
I like my wings pretty hot, but my family’s preferences are all over the map:
~ No. 5 son (age 6) doesn’t care to abuse his mucous membranes, so he plays it safe and munches barbecue wings.
~ No. 3 son (age 12) and my wife go for wings that deliver a mild heat, sometimes risking a medium.
~ No. 4 (age 10) and No. 2 (age 21) are comfortable with mediums, although they’ll nibble the occasional hottie. (Reminder, we’re talking wings here.)
~ No. 1 (age 23) eagerly gobbles platefuls of the hottest wings available. I once pilfered a wing from him and regretted it for days; I learned later the sauce was made from Mace.
At the fest, No. 4 son and my 10-year old nephew decided to try a couple really hot varieties, including one called “Afterburner.” They kind of shrugged while chewing them, saying they weren’t very flavorful. But, in the same way that the most intense flame is invisible, the heat in these wings had nothing to do with flavor. Shortly, the Afterburners kicked in, leaving them wailing that their throats and tongues had been caramelized. They eventually felt better, after the affected areas were treated for a solid week with hourly applications of Dippin’ Dots.
It’s de rigueur these days for any “National” event honoring a foodstuff to have a contest involving mass consumption of that foodstuff. Naturally, the Wing Fest holds the official United States Wing Eating Contest. It was won this year by the famous speed-eater Sonya Thomas, known as “The Black Widow,” who scarfed over 5 pounds of wing meat in 12 minutes.
The next day, Thomas also won the Festival’s “Buffet Bowl” eating contest, packing away almost six pounds of wings, roast beef, pierogies, and pizza. Surprisingly, she passed on the “Blue Cheese Bowl” event, which involved “bobbing” for wings in a giant vat of blue cheese dip. She gave some flimsy excuse about “feeling a little full.”
For taking both titles, Thomas won a prize coveted by competitive eaters everywhere: a lifetime supply of coronary stents.
While Thomas and the other contestants had their wings served to them, we regular folks had to queue up. The lines generally moved pretty quickly, although, unfortunately, the slowest was the last one we stood in, when No. 4 and his cousin were suffering the worst Afterburnereffects of their hot wing experiment. But we endured the wait in order to secure a treat that briefly soothed their scalded taste buds on the drive home: wings coated in Dippin’ Dots.
# # #
TakeFiveT5@yahoo.com
posted by Don Stuart at 3:17 PM
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