Hooters - The Joy of Deep Fried Chicken Wings

Hooters by candle light.

What is it about Hooters that makes me stupid? I like to think that I am relatively intelligent, and have a good head on my shoulders, but the second I step into Hooters it all flys out the window. Today I decided that I wanted wings. Not just any wings mind you, but Hooters wings. I really like(love) them. I think it is the breading that they are fried in that does something to me. Whatever it is, there tender goodness is delicious.

So we arrive at Hooters and I get out to get a menu. When I return we decided that we will have 20 wings with medium sauce - all drummies of course… So off we go into the great wonderland of deep fried chicken wings. We make our way to the counter and wait to place our order. A friendly server approaches us and asks if there is anything she could help us with. We advise her that we would like 20 medium wings - all drummies please.

This is where things start to get a little fuzzy. She leaned over the bar and spoke. I really have no idea of what she said, but she had a Russian accent, and very white teeth. I looked at Dianne. Dianne looked at me. I was hoping that she knew what was said, and would somehow translate it to me. It did not quite happen that way. Dianne asked what I thought.

What did I think?

I didn’t understand a damn thing she just said, much less have an opinion on it.

Well, it sound interesting I said. What do you think?

I was playing it safe here. Whatever she said, I would just agree and act like I knew what was going on the whole time. That was the ticket!

Dianne said it sounded like a good deal and we would take it.

I was off the hook. I had played the game perfectly. Dianne got what she thought was a good deal, and I got to keep my dignity. She would never know that I had no idea what the waitress was talking about.

The waitress said that it would be about 15-20 minutes, and what would we like with our 50 wings!!?!?!?!?

What? Did she just say what I thought she said? I could have sworn that she just said, “50” wings. Normally I will only eat about 10 wings before I start to get sick of them. On a good day I can polish off, say, oh about 15-20 wings if I am really hungry. I now just ordered 50 and I have no idea how or why. All I remember is that Alyona leaned across the counter and stole my common sense. I felt violated. I had been made to do something that I didn’t want to do, and I had no idea why I did it. I wasn’t sure which was worse - having to eat 50 wings, or not knowing why I ordered them.

I had just ordered enough wings to feed 5 people. I wondered what I was going to do with all the wings. I figured that if I ate 5 wings for breakfast, lunch and dinner, they would last for 3 ½ days. I would eat chicken wing salad, chicken wing sandwiches, chicken wing kabobs, grilled chicken wings, roasted chicken wings…. I could go to a park and feed the homeless chicken wings. I could go fishing and use chicken wings for bait (do salmon like chicken?). Any way I looked at it, I was going to be surrounded by chicken wings for a while.

That night after we got home, I asked Dianne what kind of chicken wing she wanted. She looked at me and said, “Oh, I’m not in the mood for chicken wings. I think I am going to have a burger“.

Now I have a strange feeling that they are going to last for 7 days....