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What I'm trying to do is guide you through a series of date possibilities — all related to food. This week, we'll venture out of the kitchen.
I always take a first date out for buffalo wings. Yes, chicken wings! You can tell a lot about a person by how she dismantles a plate of wings.
Even before that, there's the ordering. Does she want hot or medium or, God forbid, teriyaki honey glazed? What you want is someone who isn't timid and orders hot — chances are, she'll be caliente in the sack, too. Just trust me on this one.
Buffalo wings are found at both high-end eateries and dives alike. It's that rare culinary creation that can go highbrow or lowbrow. I tend to go lowbrow, so I always hit small joints to make sure my dates aren't too "materialistic." No matter where you go, always order around 30 hot wings (for the both of you) and wait and see what happens.
I once took this gal Amy to a small wing joint for a first date. Amy was a frumpy sort with a great figure hidden underneath all those Ann Taylor getups. I figured she was uptight and wouldn't put out, but I liked her enough that I thought I'd put her through the wing test. She didn't mind the seedy joint, but she stuck out like a sore thumb with her Ironed Outfit.
Thirty minutes of awkward work chitchat ensued, until the wings finally arrived. I leapt out of the gate by shoving a whole wing into my face hole, using all my mouth skills and extracting those two little bones devoid of meat. What usually follows this act is a gasp, but this conservative little freak broke character — Amy let out a sly grin and shoved a whole dripping wing into her mouth.
She worked her wrists just right, her jaws lurched from side to side, and she pulled out nothing but bone. I was the one who unconsciously gasped; I was aroused and simultaneously sedated by the sad fact that I would have put up with anything this woman said or did for the rest of my life. As it turns out, I got lucky. The only time she was enjoyable was when her mouth was full, so we never made it past the first date.
There is no bigger turn-on than watching a woman put an entire wing in her mouth, then witnessing it emerge meatless. De-meating a wing is one of those talents that transcends gender but is hard to find in either sex. Me, I'm a pro. I can suck the meat off of any bone.
Side note: I can also get an entire beer glass rim in my mouth. I understand that some of you might probably find both of these skills stomach-turning, and (to be honest) I'm not entirely sure how most women take it. I think/hope they understand that it means I take pride in my mouth and what I can do with it. This skill is the equivalent of tying a cherry stem into a knot using only your tongue, something I can do when sober.
The eating of wings is a great barometer for how reserved a person is. If your date gets sauce all over her face and hands and goes through a dozen napkins, then you are potentially in foodie/nookie heaven. Being sexy comes in many forms, and really getting into your food is a huge bonus.
Keep in mind, there is some decorum here — don't be a fucking pig, although at some point, all relationships will hopefully require plastic sheets on the bed. Along the same piggish lines, don't ever grab a bone off her plate to get some meat she missed. That guarantees the date will be your last. A cardinal rule: Don't eat off another person's plate until she offers, or until you've slept with her often enough that she feels comfortable taking a dump at your house.
Being sexy means being saucy. Wings need to have sauce on them, so always order a side of sauce — and the dipping preference is important, too. Most places serve the all-American ranch dressing. Ranch, albeit good on most anything, is bland, uncreative, and an insult to Buffalo, New York. Buffalo wings require blue cheese.
A true lowbrow connoisseur knows that blue cheese is mandatory. The traditional buffalo wing was created to be accompanied by the aromatic blue, so give kudos to the creation and at least give it a try. If your date doesn't like blue cheese, then that, too, is a red flag. It seems that all cultured, adventurous folks adore the blue. If someone doesn't mind putting mold in their mouth, well . . . You get my point.
I'm in love! At first glance, I thought it was the eloquent prose of underbelly thinking I so rawly relate. But then I started salivating imaging my wing eating pro-cess (please read as if you're England or maybe Canada...it's just more fun that way) that is really second to none. Before I describe the perfect wing approach, I have to say nothing pisses me off more than ordering wings and getting a plate of drumettes! I fucking ordered wing, man!!! Come on!!! Drums do nothing more than give a novice something to sink their teeth into without embarassment...or so they think. In the meantime, all they do for the rest of the night is wish they could get their hands on a long piece of floss!
Wings were meant to be savored. Savoring is not ripping the flesh off of a piece of dead chicken with your front teeth. Those of you who want to be experts listen closely. Starting with the flap... If you lived through the great depression, chomp the meat from this boney part like corn from a cob. Otherwise, its not worth the effort and see its value for the perfect handle as God saw during his creation. With the handle in the left (less dominant hand), pinch the joint with your finger and thumb. Next, grab the other end of bone with your right (dominate thumb-finger combo) hand and slowly seduce each bone from the meat. Thus, leaving you with wing meat dangling from the handle now used to dunk said meat in Blue Cheese dressing. If done right, satisfaction will soon follow without the cry for a stacks of wet naps. Ladies, unused wet naps can be used for other warm sticky messes. Just a thought..
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Reminiscent of Costanza's intertwining of food and sex on Seinfeld; maybe how it would have been without TV censorship. Certainly makes me want to dip my bone in some HOT stuff.Thanks for re-affirming that bleu cheese is the only way to go...