02 November 2017
Story #886
R. Linda:
I was all set for this year's Halloween lunch at an Irish pub in Manchester. Joining the usual suspects was the Weasil, who has a penchant for making his visits memorable, AND he more than outdid himself this time around. Yes, he did.
There we were looking at the menu, and Weasil picks up that there was a hot wings challenge, where you get 10 enormous wings covered in a hotter-than-hell hot sauce with ghost powder, in which you have 5 minutes to consume the wings off the bone, with no drink. You must sign a liability waiver before you start, and this is what he wanted to do. If you consumed it all, you won bragging rights in the pub, a T-shirt, and I think you won a bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky. You would have been right there with him since the wings were made with Fireball, and I know you like that stuff.
Everyone at table thought he was joking, but no, no, he wasn't, and I was the only one who knew he was serious. This was right up his alley; well, being the Weasil, he was all for it. He asked me if I wanted to share an order of jalapeño chips before the challenge to get him ready, so to speak. I thought, why not? So we all ordered appetisers, and when the chips came, I saw they were nothing more than sliced jalapeños dipped in a hot batter and deep fried to a crisp. There was ranch sauce to dip them in, so not really thinking, I took one and it went down without me thinking a thing about it, but by the third, I was beginning to feel the heat. The problem was, if you stopped eating them, you really felt the heat, so I kept on. Yes, I did, stupid I know, but then I realised the wings would probably be twenty times hotter than what I was consuming so I told him if he decided he was really going to take the challenge, once he got started, not to stop because he'd feel the burn and that would end that.
Yes, ever helpful, that's me.
The waitress brought the waiver over, he didn't bother to read it, but I am sure it said if he went into cardiac arrest or his guts fell out, the pub was not responsible for the challenger's stupidity to attempt the challenge in the first place. He signed it without reading it, and she took off for the kitchen while the Weasil continued to munch on the jalapeño chips. It wasn't long before a plate of wickedly hot wings appeared and was placed in front of the Weas. The waitress stood back, and a pub man, the official who would either award Weasil for his cast iron stomach or would simply walk away with a "better luck next time mate," stood at the ready to watch this catastrophe, looking at those wings that could very well be. Jayus, Mary, Joseph, and R. Linda, they were bright red, like the devil.
Tonya set her phone clock for five minutes. We all stared at the plate, watching the steam rise from the wings. The bright red colour was a warning to me, at least not to touch those things, and there were chips of hot pepper in the sauce on top that boded stomach pumping. Oh my.
Tonya hit the start, and Weas was off. Eating, ripping the meat from the bone with his lovely white choppers, chewing, swallowing, and ripping off more, the lad was doing ok on the first two wings, but suddenly his whole body started shaking. I was like, "Wow, Weasil, what's going on?" He shook and got even shakier, but he kept ripping and tearing and partly chewing and swallowing, and the shaking was so bad he could hardly hold onto the wings. But he got five down before the clock alarm went off.
We cheered him on the entire time, hoping he'd make the challenge because if there was ever someone to do something this insane, it was Weasil. Well, he was disappointed, but he did complain that the chicken was the size of a turkey and the meat was stringy, so it was hard to chew. The pub official walked away to officiate another day, and the wings sat in front of the Weasil, half consumed, sadly.
"Do you want me to leave those for you?" the waitress asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
"Hells no, bring me something to drink quick, water anything!" The defeated lad said.
He was brought four slabs of butter and a huge glass of milk.
"The official said to eat the butter first, then drink the milk, and that will help." The accommodating waitress smiled at him.
The rest of us were grossed out over the big slabs of butter. Wouldn't that grease add to the internal fire in Weasil's stomach? It was like what they tell you not to put on a burn because it is like putting grease on a fire, and it will make it worse. But Weasil did as told without listening to us tell him why he probably shouldn't.
By this time, Weasil's face looked rather red, his eyes were very bloodshot and watery. I almost thought steam would come from his ears, but he at least had calmed the shakes.
He ordered another glass of milk and drank both glasses in huge gulps after swallowing more of the butter. I could only imagine what his stomach felt like, as the chips I consumed were nothing compared to those wings.
We had ordered our mains, and I had done what I usually do: ordered the bangers and mash. Mam no longer does that, but foolish me, having been to the pub before and having had the bangers, thought they were the same as before. But no, they suspiciously tasted like, you know what? YES, that Polish sausage!
They didn't even look appetising to be honest with you because when they arrived, Weasil was able to mumble, "That looks like dog shite on a plate."
I couldn't tell what kind of sausage that was. It did not have the Kielbasa consistency, but it tasted off from what I was used to, which was the real thing. Since the Coat of Arms in Portsmouth has closed its doors forever, I will not be ordering bangers and mash at an Irish or British eatery here in the U.S. ever again. So not only was the Weasil disappointed, but so was I.
I looked at everyone else. They had stuck to more sensible dishes, like hamburgers and chicken tenders.
We finished with the Weasil eating nothing more than what he had, poor fellow. I almost felt sorry for him, but me own stomach was feeling a bit queasy. I had heartburn like I had eaten an entire Mexican menu, which is another thing I learned: do not order Mexican fare in an Irish pub. There is a reason it be called Mexican, so I will be going to a Mexican restaurant for jalapeños from now on. At least there I am used to that burn, an Irish/Mexican case of heartburn be not normal. But that wasn't all that was the bother.
We made it home, but not before we stopped at Dunks for Vanilla bean coolattas to cool our stomachs—Weasil and me, that is. By the way, it took us four hours to drink them. By 6 in the evening, we were looking at each other, knowing that something was not right.
"I know where the wings are in me body." He said, pointing to his upper abdomen. "They took forever to slide down from me oesophagus. And don't ask about the burping I've been trying to squelch. The heartburn is the worst."
"Ock! The heartburn be me worst trouble." I agreed. "I don't feel the burn now, I guess that's a good sign," I said, unluckily, because later I'd have the worst case of diverticulitis ever! But Weasil was doing the loo waltz, and told me his posterior was burning like all get out. He was standing a lot between runs, and when I told him to sit down for a wee spell, he told me it hurt to sit down. Lucky for him, Mam had an inflatable doughnut she had brought from Ireland that belonged to me Da when he had a bad case of haemorrhoids, which I know Weasil will probably have as well from being so pigheaded about that challenge.
I know, too much information, but it was that kind of day. I won't mention the word that goes with 'it was a ----- day', but you get me drift.
I did ask him if he would go back and do it again, and he surprised me with a resounding NO! What be happening to our Weasil? Is he growing up, or is he just too old for all the antics that come so easily to him? I did inform him that next Halloween we be going to a Mexican restaurant if he cares to come along. He looked kind of uncomfortable as he shifted on the doughnut. "I dunt know." That was all he said, and every time I brought that subject up, he told me to hush, he was done talking about it.
So now I am too.
A footnote: Weasil left us accompanied by Montezuma. I wonder how long it took them to get to wherever he was going. There aren't too many service stations up here. I have to wonder, too, just where he might be because something tells me he's still travelling with Monte, quite literally.
Gabe
Copyright © 2017 All rights reserved
Story #886
R. Linda:
I was all set for this year's Halloween lunch at an Irish pub in Manchester. Joining the usual suspects was the Weasil, who has a penchant for making his visits memorable, AND he more than outdid himself this time around. Yes, he did.
There we were looking at the menu, and Weasil picks up that there was a hot wings challenge, where you get 10 enormous wings covered in a hotter-than-hell hot sauce with ghost powder, in which you have 5 minutes to consume the wings off the bone, with no drink. You must sign a liability waiver before you start, and this is what he wanted to do. If you consumed it all, you won bragging rights in the pub, a T-shirt, and I think you won a bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky. You would have been right there with him since the wings were made with Fireball, and I know you like that stuff.
Everyone at table thought he was joking, but no, no, he wasn't, and I was the only one who knew he was serious. This was right up his alley; well, being the Weasil, he was all for it. He asked me if I wanted to share an order of jalapeño chips before the challenge to get him ready, so to speak. I thought, why not? So we all ordered appetisers, and when the chips came, I saw they were nothing more than sliced jalapeños dipped in a hot batter and deep fried to a crisp. There was ranch sauce to dip them in, so not really thinking, I took one and it went down without me thinking a thing about it, but by the third, I was beginning to feel the heat. The problem was, if you stopped eating them, you really felt the heat, so I kept on. Yes, I did, stupid I know, but then I realised the wings would probably be twenty times hotter than what I was consuming so I told him if he decided he was really going to take the challenge, once he got started, not to stop because he'd feel the burn and that would end that.
Yes, ever helpful, that's me.
The waitress brought the waiver over, he didn't bother to read it, but I am sure it said if he went into cardiac arrest or his guts fell out, the pub was not responsible for the challenger's stupidity to attempt the challenge in the first place. He signed it without reading it, and she took off for the kitchen while the Weasil continued to munch on the jalapeño chips. It wasn't long before a plate of wickedly hot wings appeared and was placed in front of the Weas. The waitress stood back, and a pub man, the official who would either award Weasil for his cast iron stomach or would simply walk away with a "better luck next time mate," stood at the ready to watch this catastrophe, looking at those wings that could very well be. Jayus, Mary, Joseph, and R. Linda, they were bright red, like the devil.
Tonya set her phone clock for five minutes. We all stared at the plate, watching the steam rise from the wings. The bright red colour was a warning to me, at least not to touch those things, and there were chips of hot pepper in the sauce on top that boded stomach pumping. Oh my.
 |
| Yup indeed! |
We cheered him on the entire time, hoping he'd make the challenge because if there was ever someone to do something this insane, it was Weasil. Well, he was disappointed, but he did complain that the chicken was the size of a turkey and the meat was stringy, so it was hard to chew. The pub official walked away to officiate another day, and the wings sat in front of the Weasil, half consumed, sadly.
"Do you want me to leave those for you?" the waitress asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
"Hells no, bring me something to drink quick, water anything!" The defeated lad said.
He was brought four slabs of butter and a huge glass of milk.
"The official said to eat the butter first, then drink the milk, and that will help." The accommodating waitress smiled at him.
The rest of us were grossed out over the big slabs of butter. Wouldn't that grease add to the internal fire in Weasil's stomach? It was like what they tell you not to put on a burn because it is like putting grease on a fire, and it will make it worse. But Weasil did as told without listening to us tell him why he probably shouldn't.
By this time, Weasil's face looked rather red, his eyes were very bloodshot and watery. I almost thought steam would come from his ears, but he at least had calmed the shakes.
He ordered another glass of milk and drank both glasses in huge gulps after swallowing more of the butter. I could only imagine what his stomach felt like, as the chips I consumed were nothing compared to those wings.
We had ordered our mains, and I had done what I usually do: ordered the bangers and mash. Mam no longer does that, but foolish me, having been to the pub before and having had the bangers, thought they were the same as before. But no, they suspiciously tasted like, you know what? YES, that Polish sausage!
They didn't even look appetising to be honest with you because when they arrived, Weasil was able to mumble, "That looks like dog shite on a plate."
 |
I looked at everyone else. They had stuck to more sensible dishes, like hamburgers and chicken tenders.
 |
| What I should have ordered |
We made it home, but not before we stopped at Dunks for Vanilla bean coolattas to cool our stomachs—Weasil and me, that is. By the way, it took us four hours to drink them. By 6 in the evening, we were looking at each other, knowing that something was not right.
"I know where the wings are in me body." He said, pointing to his upper abdomen. "They took forever to slide down from me oesophagus. And don't ask about the burping I've been trying to squelch. The heartburn is the worst."
"Ock! The heartburn be me worst trouble." I agreed. "I don't feel the burn now, I guess that's a good sign," I said, unluckily, because later I'd have the worst case of diverticulitis ever! But Weasil was doing the loo waltz, and told me his posterior was burning like all get out. He was standing a lot between runs, and when I told him to sit down for a wee spell, he told me it hurt to sit down. Lucky for him, Mam had an inflatable doughnut she had brought from Ireland that belonged to me Da when he had a bad case of haemorrhoids, which I know Weasil will probably have as well from being so pigheaded about that challenge.
I know, too much information, but it was that kind of day. I won't mention the word that goes with 'it was a ----- day', but you get me drift.
I did ask him if he would go back and do it again, and he surprised me with a resounding NO! What be happening to our Weasil? Is he growing up, or is he just too old for all the antics that come so easily to him? I did inform him that next Halloween we be going to a Mexican restaurant if he cares to come along. He looked kind of uncomfortable as he shifted on the doughnut. "I dunt know." That was all he said, and every time I brought that subject up, he told me to hush, he was done talking about it.
So now I am too.
A footnote: Weasil left us accompanied by Montezuma. I wonder how long it took them to get to wherever he was going. There aren't too many service stations up here. I have to wonder, too, just where he might be because something tells me he's still travelling with Monte, quite literally.
Gabe
Copyright © 2017 All rights reserved
ROFLMAO have you ever touched or seen a ghost pepper? HOT TO THE TOUCH even raw. I told you NEVER drink water, only milk. Water reactivated the burn. Butter coats the stomach. I Do love fireball, straight. Montezuma has his revenge until you are an empty shell of a man. LMAO
ReplyDeleteWeasil is either incredibly brave or incredibly nutters to take that challenge. I've had ghost pepper sauce and never again. I hope he is okay after all that bravado.
ReplyDelete