The Ringer:
Hot chicken was a dish created for the express purpose of bringing a man to his knees. Its origin myth wasn’t the result of a mistake, like chocolate chip cookies, Coca-Cola, or the French dip sandwich. Hot chicken was premeditated; to this day, every bite of Nashville hot chicken is touched by the spectral presence of a betrayed lover.
The finished product has a lurid, reddish hue that, depending on the spice level, ranges from California sunset to the bowels of hell. Hot chicken is served with two mandatory accompaniments: a slice of plain old white bread upon which the bird is perched and a few pickle chips skewered to the chicken with a toothpick.
I lived in Nashville for several years and loved it. I ate at Prince’s Hot Chicken Shack once – and only once. I’ve never understood the penchant people have for eating food that causes them physical pain.
As someone that has lived in Nashville their entire life and doesn’t like hot and spicy foods, I’m equally perplexed. I avoided Hattie B’s (another local hot chicken place) like the plague until someone told me they had a not-at-all-hot variety.
I always thought it was because I was from Nova Scotia and my palate had been “trained” to like seafood (which for us tends to be subtly flavoured). Good to hear that even some Southerners don’t like food that hurts to eat. 🙂
“I’ve never understood the penchant people have for eating food that causes them physical pain.”
A little heat for a bit of a zing is one thing. Actual sweating ear lobes, stinging eyes, burning throats, throbbing tongues and soon-to-be-cauterized orifices make no sense to me whatsoever.
Yeah, I like some lip tingle and cleared sinuses.
I don’t like wanting to die.
I love spice pain on the way in. But if it causes pain on the way out, forget it.
That’s a lot of red. I love spicy food, but there needs to be strong flavor underneath the strong heat, or there’s no point.