20th Jan - Sticky Fingers


Right then... Any ideas on the best way to get your fingers covered in a hot chick's juices? Before you answer that, I'll openly admit that particular question is from a somewhat risque style of branding used by 'cheeky' Nando's in the mid-2010s. Back then, the world was a very different - and certainly less 'woke' - place. Veganism was yet to really kick off, feminism and gender pronouns were still bubbling under the surface, and the air was awash with the smell of CK One, as lads with full sleeve tattoos shuffled into a Friday night to Duke Dumont tunes, living by their 'house every weekend' mantra. 





Even so, it's tough to imagine everybody's favourite Mozambique-chicken joint getting away with such advertising in the modern age, but - unlike toxic masculinity - one particular surge in popularity we've seen in recent years is the rise of the humble chicken wing. I myself must admit, I took a proportionately large chunk of time to allow myself to be converted to their merits. I've always been a breast man (oooh err), mainly on account of the boneless nature of the beast. Whilst a drumstick feels oddly satisfying due to - much like the Cornish pasty - arriving with a 'handle' to hold whilst gnashing into. But the wing? It always seemed more effort than the total reward... A small scraping of white flesh, enough to satisfy a Magikarp.




But I soon realised, the beauty of the wing, is in the seasoning, and so tonight - after a trip to the Emirates, watching my beloved Arsenal battle (and most probably bend over for) Liverpool, I've scheduled in a visit to WingStop, which does what it says on the tin. Popping up in a variety of locations around London, including Soho, Kensington, and Battersea, the chain offer wings with varying chilli levels, inviting you to test your tongue on a scale of Alan Carr-mild to Vin Diesel-hot. As a long-term lover of all things spice, this is causing me huge excitement, though I'll do my best to avoid any Idris Elba impressions...





I'll let you know how I got on, tomorrow.
By which point, I may indeed have, very sticky fingers.

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