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A funeral for my tongue

My taste buds have been cauterized at the Hot One’s Challenge

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the wings and the menu of the hot sauce coating
PHOTO: Corbett Gildersleve / The Peak

By: Corbett Gildersleve, News Writer

We are all gathered here today to mourn the loss of Corbett’s tongue, lost to us at a ripe young age of 44. Corbett thought himself adventurous, having lived in China for two years where he ate many different types of dishes, many of which were of the spicy variety. The numbing spice of Sichuan peppercorn was no match for him, nor the shredded pork dishes heaped with chilis. So, when one of The Peak’s Editor-in-Chiefs asked for someone to attend a Hot One’s Challenge as a media taster, Corbett foolishly volunteered as tribute. 

On June 7, Corbett arrived at the Good Company Granville, host of the event. It was sponsored by Gladstone Hot Sauce, who provided six of their eight featured flavours. While watching a competition of eager community members, he was provided an eight-piece sampler with a list of hot sauce flavours, ranging from mildest to hottest. What he didn’t know was that the wings were not in the same order. It was a chicken wing roulette!

This poor, innocent man, not knowing the danger in front of him, grabbed the first wing and, after devouring it in seconds, knew he had chosen poorly. Heat filled his mouth like never before. What heat! What betrayal! The ice water . . . it does nothing! Fortunately, the fire faded quickly, and he decided to be more thoughtful in his next choice. Luck was on his side, as the next five were of the mild to medium variety. Some had a sweet honey flavour, while others had a chipotle or sweet Thai chili. Maybe he just got unlucky with the first wing. Maybe that was the hottest. 

Editor’s note: It was not the hottest

“Heat filled his mouth like never before. What heat! What betrayal! The ice water . . . It does nothing!” — Corbett Gildersleve, A poor fool

After biting into the second-to-last wing . . . Pain! Unmitigated pain! 

Corbett went through at least two litres of ice water, which he knew would have no real effect, but it was better than doing nothing. Tears flowed, face muscles perked, and breathing was as heavy as in all those “romance” novels people read now. 

The final wing provided no relief as it, too, was one of the hotter ones — or maybe Corbett’s tongue was so burned that the nerve endings had given up. Either way, he quickly flagged down a server to order a bowl of ice cream, which just so happened to be advertised on a board next to the competition. 

That singular bowl of ice cream was the only source of comfort that day. Corbett left Good Company Granville a broken, changed man. Never again will his tongue be able to taste things the same again. 

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

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