Look, I love wings as much as the next guy. Matter of fact, I probably love wings as much as the next three guys. I lived for some time in the chicken wing capital of America, after all--a city where doctors have to warn people that chicken wings should not be eaten more than three times in any single day. As a consequence, I have both a finely developed palate for the appreciation of good chicken wings (meaning those that come from Buffalo or are made by people who've spent time there) and a deep-seated loathing for all others.
Even here in Denver, I eat chicken wings with some regularity. I have my favorite places. I have my emergency stand-by places. In my head, I have a map of decent chicken wing joints all over the city just in case I should ever find myself out on the town when seized by an undeniable hunger.
But eating fifty chicken wings in a single sitting? That's too much even for me. Really, that's too much for anyone, in my opinion--a feat that borders on the sort of masochistic competitive eating that can turn a man off chicken wings (or hot dogs or chalupas or anything else being competitively eaten) for life.
And yet, that's just exactly the challenge that has been thrown down at Boulder's West End Tavern: Eat fifty wings in thirty minutes and your fifty wings are free. Also, you get another dozen wings on the house. And a T-shirt. The trip to the hospital to get your stomach pumped? That's on you.
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