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Chicago Buffalo Blog: Achieving Happiness Orally


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Chrissy on Jake Melnick's
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Whoa, was I unprepared for this experience.

The establishment itself was a casual bar, populated with bar stools at high tables and a smattering of younger folks watching Monday night football. The sports, however, were not in your face. We sat off to the side, under criss-crossing strands of christmas lights, with a view of the city street. Service was friendly, but not the best. The waitress should have warned us.

I ordered the XXX, which failed to come with the promised plastic fireman's hat. When they came to the table, I cleared my sinuses with a delicate sniff of the sauce. My ENORMOUS wings came in a basket with crisp celery and a cup of dressing garnished with fresh crumbles of blue cheese suspended atop the perfectly creamy liquid.

I took my first bite. The perspiring began immediately. As did the burning. I can remember pain, but it doesn't seem real any longer. I heard the screams of my companions and saw them sweating as well. I attempted another mouthful, but the pain was too much. I had to ride it out before I could consider allowing my masochism to reach a whole new level. The waitress casually asked if we needed the cooling plates yet, but the spicy high was already setting in. None of us could properly answer. I rang my bell, knowing that one of us would need the cool ice cream by the time the plate arrived.

The adrenal glands kicked in, I'm sure of that. I've never been sky diving, but I'm sure that when I do, the rush will be similar to this experience. It was almost hallucinogenic. I definitely felt drunk despite the fact that I had only had one beer. My lips were tingling; my entire body was tingling; I got goosebumps.

The second wing was not as intense, but still painful and strangely euphoric. I ate some of the traditional spicy and what taste buds I had left to me told me that they were pleasant, but not very saucy. After a pause, some water, and a beer, Lauren and I toasted my third wing. The intensity again was diminished, but it still burned. It still burns now, deep in my intestines as I write this.

This experience has changed my perspective of what "spicy" means. You can't eat the second hottest habanero in the world and come away unchanged.

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My stomach still burns, yet I yearn for my leftovers!

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