I suspect there is such a thing as Super Bowl collective consciousness. Case in point: There were four kinds of hot wings brought by at least three people to the potluck. This would be fairly unremarkable — wangs is football eatin’ — except for the fact that at last year’s potluck, we all brought chili. EXPLAIN THAT, SCIENCE.
These particular wings were dipped in some special sauce whipped up by Ray, who feels like if he doesn’t halfway choke to death while breathing near the food object in question, it’s not hot enough.
I’m exaggerating only slightly. These wings weren’t hot enough to earn a spot on any of those ridiculous fat-man-eats-a-ton-of-ridiculous-food shows we all know and loathe, but they did make it difficult for me to breathe deeply when I was in the kitchen while they were being made.
Just one of those wings made for the most uncomfortable Monday ever.
FYI