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Sandwich Monday: Hot Chicken

It looks so innocent, sitting there in its styrofoam. NPR hide caption

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It looks so innocent, sitting there in its styrofoam.

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The legend of Hot Chicken goes like this: decades ago, a womanizer in Nashville, Tennessee ticked off his girlfriend one time too many. She figured she'd get her revenge by making his fried chicken unbearably, horribly spicy. But he liked it, served it in his restaurant, and nowadays when you go to Nashville, the locals tell you to try it.

I know this isn't technically a sandwich, but I'll justify it by saying this dish is basically chicken sandwiched between two layers of hate. I've eaten a lot of spicy things in my day, but this was excruciatingly hot.

There are a few recommended spots, but we settled on Bolton's. You go in this little shack, and there's a door in the back with a sign: PLEASE KNOCK WHEN READY TO ORDER. You know the old saying, "When in Rome, show little regard for your personal welfare," so we ordered it hot.

Ian: Mmmm. Chicken with Punishment Sauce.

Peter: It's like right before it died, the chicken said, "Fine, but I'm taking you bastards with me."

Peter: Eva looks like she's just been told the chicken she ate was her childhood pet.

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Ian: Why are we doing this? It's like someone told us "hey, the local specialty is just getting somebody to stab you in the tongue," and we were like, "sign us up!"

That's not redeye. NPR hide caption

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That's not redeye.

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Robert: How come our food was served with a pitchfork by a guy in a red cape and horns?

Ian: Seriously, I feel like a rat in an experiment where I get shocked every time I take a food pellet. I should learn but I'm like GIVE ME MORE DAMN PELLETS.

It may seem like we cleaned our plates, but really the chicken just spontaneously combusted halfway through dinner. NPR hide caption

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It may seem like we cleaned our plates, but really the chicken just spontaneously combusted halfway through dinner.

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We don't have a bottle opener, but one of the very few skills I have is opening a beer using only another beer. This works until the last beer, at which point I'm so desperate I open it using Eva's lip balm container.

Eva: I now understand why when we asked for drinks they just brought us a couple of fire hoses.

Robert: I knew when we were in trouble when I saw they offer a side of brimstone.

[The verdict: Sandwich Monday doesn't usually cause us pain. It does cause emotional pain in our loved ones, who know we'll be leaving this earth too soon. But this was painful. Seriously, profoundly painful. Maybe try the medium. If you dare, learn more about Bolton's here.]

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