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Listen: This hot chicken thing may be getting out of hand. Well, more out of hand.
Twenty years ago, I was visiting an old college friend, a Tennessee native. We were both in that mid-20s figuring-it-all-out phase. I was barely making a living in daily newspapers. Kevin was playing in bands in Nashville, continuing to be much cooler than me.
On the advice of friends, I hit up Prince’s Hot Chicken on the way out of town and noticed something strange. The ratio of Black regulars to newbie white hipsters was approaching 50/50. I was part of the problem. And none of it was an accident.
Jack White of The White Stripes had just moved to town. Music City was once again a modern Mecca of cool, even for the country music agnostic. Mayor Bill Purcell seized on the idea of promoting Nashville Hot Chicken as The Next Big Thing. It was a perfect storm, building to the first Hot Chicken Festival in 2007.
The full local history is richer, stranger. But soon it belonged to the world—KFC, Burger King, the freezer section of your local grocery store.
Back in March, I noticed a new sign at the corner of Battleground Avenue and Cornwallis Drive here in Greensboro. Dave’s Hot Chicken, an outpost of the popular California chain, was about to open there.
Sure. Why not see how much worse traffic and parking can get in this part of town?
A few weeks later, I was stuck in the resulting bumper-to-bumper when I looked across the street to Lawndale Drive. A sign was going up for another hot chicken spot—Hangry Joe’s Hot Chicken & Wings (no relation). Madness. I could throw a rock from one hot chicken joint and hit the other, if I wanted to go to jail for something that stupid.
Hangry Joe’s hasn’t opened yet. But I recently stopped in at Dave’s with a source who wanted to try it. Nothing like conducting an interview with swelling lips, a runny nose, and watery eyes.
Don’t get me wrong. From the curries of many nations to the hot sauce on my eggs, I am pro spice. Spice positive. A spice ally. But choice of career aside, I am not a masochist. I am, however, a man. And when two men, however secure and enlightened, come together over spicy food…things can get out of hand. One-upmanship. Inexplicable, infectious machismo. A desire to demonstrate a tolerance for pain—oral, intestinal, psychological. Don’t ask me why. We don’t have antlers to smash together, I guess.
Walking in, I surveyed the menu. Tenders and sandwiches on offer in seven available “heat levels” from “No Spice” to “Reaper” (the last with its own “at your own risk” disclaimer). I ordered one Medium Hot tender and one Hot. Let him mock me for not going “Extra Hot” or higher. I’d deal with it.
“Oh, Mild for me,” I heard him say.
Talk about one-upmanship.
Was it an unpleasant experience? Hardly. The chicken was tender, juicy, flavorful. The spice was substantial, but nothing I couldn’t handle. There were fries, cool pickle slices, and white bread on the side.
“You know,” I said to my lunch companion. “I was afraid this would be some macho heat level challenge thing.”
“Really?” he said. “Oh, god. You’re straight, aren’t you? Why do you guys do that?”
Fair question. Lemme hit a few more of these places for research. I’ll get back to you.
Joe Killian is The Assembly’s Greensboro editor. He covered cops, courts, government and politics at Greensboro’s daily paper, The News & Record, for a decade. He joined us from NC Newsline in Raleigh, where he was senior investigative reporter.