[CH] The Buffalo "Hot Wings" 10 and 15 Piece
Thomas P Denton (putpd@utxdp.dp.utexas.edu)
Thursday, 10 Dec 98 09:16:03 CST
(Originally sent to the Penguin List, a runners' support group. A little
long, but thought some might enjoy his different perspective. Forwarded
with the author's permission. Tom Denton in Austin.)
San Francisco is known for its sourdough bread and Rice-a-Roni. New Orleans
has its Cajun cooking, Chicago is known for its deep dish pizza, and
Milwaukee has its beer. This week, I was in Buffalo, which has its world
famous hot wings. I'll admit, I could see leaving San Francisco without
making a point of eating the San Francisco treat, but I could not leave
Buffalo without sampling their wings.
So, just as a runner who would seek out a local road race while spending a
weekend in a strange city, I stared my quest for some good honest Buffalo
wings. I decided on ordering them from a local Pizza place near the hotel I
was staying at. I ordered them medium strength, since I can't tolerate them
if they are too hot. They were a major disappointment. I could get them this
good back home in Atlanta.
The next day, when I got to Buffalo/Niagara International Airport to catch my
flight back home, I saw a place named "Niagara Grill." I decided to give
Buffalo wings one more try. An order of wings was $5.25, but I could get five
more for an additional $1.50. I asked how many wings were in an order, and
the guy said there were ten. Wow, a choice of a 10 or 15. Another analogy!
This weekend, the race I went to had 5K, 10K, and 15K options. I opted for
the 15K then. Now, again I was faced with a choice of 10 or 15. Again, I
went with the 15. Just like last time, I got the medium strength, and a Sam
Adams to wash it down.
The order came, and I could see just by looking at the plate in front of me
that these wings were going to be much better then the ones I had he night
before. They were much meatier, and were dripping with the secret sauce. And
even before my first bite of my first wing, I knew I was in for an adventure.
The pepper hit my nose, and I felt like I had just been pepper sprayed. My
eyes teared up, and I could hardly breathe. And this was BEFORE my first
bite. Last night's wings were also medium, but they didn't pack any clout at
all. I guess it's open to interpretation, just like a course description that
says " Moderately rolling hills." Yeah, right!
I realized that this was going to be some tough 15 piece race. I finished the
first three wings t splits of 1:21, 1:35 and 1:30. I was staying pretty
consistant so far, but was already sweating heavily out of every pore in my
head. Maybe I should have chosen the 10 piece after all. I was already
struggling, and didn't now if I could finish the full 15. I grabbed my Samuel
Adams and took some at the three piece mark. I was already wiping my brow
from the sweat with a napkin. Pieces 4 and 5 went a bit slower. 1:47 and
2:15. More beer, more sweating, more napkins, but I was determined to go on.
The next five were a blur. I didn't even keep splits, but I know it took at
least 14 minutes to go through pieces six through ten. Why did I ever commit
to the 15? It all felt uphill. My Sam Adams was getting near rock bottom,
but I was determined to go on, without a refill. A refill would have cost me
valuable time. There was only one bartender on staff, and I couldn't afford
to run off the course at this point. By the 10 piece mark, I had already used
4 napkins to perspiration, and another 3 to sauce. I think people were
beginning to notice. Five more to go, then I could rest. Pieces 11 and 12
were at about a 3 minute pace each. I spent a lot of time just looking into
space between pieces at this point, wondering why I ever got in to wing eating
in the first place.
But finally, the end was in sight. I still had about two fingers of beer
left. I knew I would finish today's race. I put my head down and charged.
The pace quickened. I got down under 1:30 each for pieces 13 and 14, and with
a finishing kick, the last one was the quickest. I looked at my watch. The
last piece was gone in under a minute. Unbelievable. It was far from a PR,
but eating wings in Buffalo must be akin to running a marathon in Boston. I
finished, and that was all that mattered. Well, that and the T-shirt!
Michael