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.
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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.