A Spicy Snow Day
I was driving in Providence yesterday when a guy ran into the street to dump some snow he was shoveling from his sidewalk. Clearly, the snow’s getting ridiculous and I know I’m not the only one who’s sick of it already. There’s even a snow bank on my street that’s taller than me…. Echoing Jen from yesterday, I focus primarily on the adult aspects of snow like shoveling, cleaning off my car and making it to work without sliding into anything. It’s been a while since I’ve actually enjoyed snow (I don’t even remember playing in it that much when I was a kid), but yesterday I went sledding for the first time in years and actually had a blast! But after a few hours of sliding down a hill in Roger Williams Park and making the long walk back up, the adult part of me kicked in again and realized how cold my feet were and that snow had somehow gotten past my jacket and hoodie and into my shirt. Back to not liking the snow…
On a day like yesterday, hot wings seemed like the ideal cure-all to combat the cold. I had been meaning to try Wings and Things in Providence for quite some time so the timing was perfect. Weaving through Providence I eventually found my way to the small restaurant and had wings with their atomic sauce, their hottest level of buffalo. Every time I place an order for hot wings, there’s always a moment where I ask myself, “What have I gotten into?” Most of the time, my worries are for naught, but this was different. I don’t think I’ve ever been more intimidated by a serving of wings before, but these came out on a paper tray drenched in a seething bright red-orange sauce that looked more like flames than something I was about to eat.
In the past, I’ve eaten wings that have looked a lot spicier than they actually were, but these wings were hot! “The Scream” painting by Edvard Munch hangs on one of the walls and almost acts as a bit foreshadowing if you’re about to have the atomic sauce. I shared an order of twenty of them with a friend and at one point I asked him if he was sweating. “Nope, I’m crying,” he said while rubbing his eyes with a napkin. They were the kind of wings that were hot even before the first bite, the kind whose fumes penetrate your nostrils and might induce a small cough, the kind that I wasn’t sure I could even finish. Give ‘em a try. I dare you.
Wings and Things
250 Brook St., Providence