James and I love to travel.
We also love to eat.
COVID and having a child both put a serious hitch in our traveling schedule, but we're doing our best.
When we travel someplace new, one of the things we like to do is try that area's signature dish. For example, when you go to New Orleans, you have to have beignets and po boys. In Canada, you have poutine. In Louisville, you have a hot brown. (That's really what it's called.)
In Nashville, you have hot chicken.
We went to Nashville in July 2021. It was part of our road trip to Mammoth Cave, Kentucky. It turned out Nashville was a short drive from our campsite, so we decided to make a day trip out of it. It was DEATHLY hot - like set one foot out of the car and you start sweating hot - but we were bound and determined to eat this hot chicken we'd read so much about.
According to the internet, there were plenty of places to get hot chicken. The one that popped up first was a place called Hattie B's, but it looked like a chain (a local chain, but still) and some of the reviews said it was overrated. The second place that emerged victorious was a place called Bolton's.
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| The chicken with flames coming out its ass should have been a hint. |
We made our way to Bolton's. It was nothing at all to look at - just a squat little concrete building with some broken doors. In our experience, the worse the exterior looks, the better the food. We entered the empty restaurant. Dine-in service was still restricted, but one could order inside for a meal cooked in the adjacent food truck and dine at the outdoor picnic tables. The first thing we saw was the chart.
And wait.
And WAIT.
We waited for - no joke - an hour and a half for our chicken.
While we waited, we talked to a group of four who had arrived after us. They had never had Bolton's before either, but they were much more confident than we were. They were from Louisiana, and they'd ordered a range from mild to hot. "We carry hot sauce in our bags," they bragged.
At long last, our chicken arrived - and it looked AMAZING. It came with coleslaw, ranch dressing, and white bread, and it appeared to be juicy and tender. As we bit into our chicken, it was indeed the juiciest and most tender chicken I'd ever had.
Mind you, I had ordered light mild. There shouldn't have been anything threatening about that, right?! I put the coleslaw right on my lips to try and quell the burning sensation, and I soaked each bite of chicken in ranch in hopes of eating it without the searing pain.
No such luck.
As bad as I had it, James was worse off.
But we kept eating.
The flavor was incredible. It was one of those rare super-spicy dishes where you can taste the flavors through the intense spice, and the flavor is so wonderful you withstand the suffering.
Meanwhile, the Louisianans were watching us poor Midwesterners and our clear intolerance for southern heat. They just shook their heads and put on their "just watch this" faces. They all took their first bites...
...and suffered the exact same fate as us.
Not so cocky now, are we?
The Louisianans were quick to take back everything they said about us being wimps and said this hot chicken was indeed a force to be reckoned with. The "mild" chicken was in no way mild. One member of their party ordered the "hot" spice level (I felt a full body shiver just writing that) and managed to get some dry rub IN HIS EYE. I thought that would be a trip to the ER for sure, but he eventually came out of the bathroom - completely soaked, of course.
Neither James nor I could complete our meals. The pain was eventually too great. We had to beat it from Bolton's to the nearest ice cream parlor to truly heal ourselves, as dairy is the only true antidote to spice.
And yet - I can't stop thinking about that chicken.
I don't know if I'll ever find myself in Nashville again, but I would love to go for round 2 with hot chicken.
No spice this time.
I'm writing this from the great beyond, heh, heh. I died laughing at the spicy chicken story!
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