The scourge of the wing night

Oh no, the Chinamen!

-- Richard Liang

Some of my fondest memories of undergrad are the Tuesday nights where Victor, Derek, Jowen and I would hit either 99 Chairs for Toonie Tuesday or the Pit for their wing night. Almost every Tuesday, the four of us (or at least 2 of us) would go and demolish about 4 pounds of wings and either nachos or Belgian fries, depending on where we were. We would also generally buy one medium pop between us.

Imagine, then, my joy at discovering that the Cat & Fiddle Pub, right here in my own figurative backyard, had 25-cent prawns two nights a week, including -- you guessed it -- Tuesday. But wait! Tuesday! my brain said. I can invite Victor, Derek, and Jowen! We ride again!

After a somewhat rough start (Victor forgot about it the first week and then Derek bailed today), the remaining three of us pushed on. As Victor, Jowen and I chowed down on our 70 prawns and two collective beers, I was reminded of a little realization I had in the dank confines of the Pit on a smoky Tuesday night. Why do pubs have wing nights? To sell beer by oversalting and overhotting their wings. Classic loss leader. But there is one problem with this plan:

Chinese people.

Big on oversalting and overheating and not so big on the drinky drinky, Chinese people must be a wing night's worst nightmare. It's not that many people that can achieve, as Victor called it, the "one drink, four pounds of wings" ratio. (Koreans would do, but they're bigger on the sauce.)

I can just see the barkeep standing behind the bar cleaning a glass, when a look of panic sweeps over his face as he sees the Integra pull into the parking lot, saying, "Oh no, the Chinamen!" The kitchen staff resignedly mopes back into the deep freeze and begins thawing another two kilograms of wings.

Tonight, there was real hope in our server's voice as she asked us if we would like any more liquor. Twice she asked; twice we said "No, we're fine, thanks." We speculated as to what the bartenders were saying: something like, "Still nothing, eh?" or "Try pushing it onto the guy in the Dick's Lumber shirt. Well it's worth a shot, anyway." Finally, Victor relented and got another beer, though I implored him not to. It'd be far more beneficial in the long term to put the fear into their hearts.

Mark my words, Cat & Fiddle Pub's 25-cent peel-and-eat shrimp night, we'll be back. Oh yes. The Chinamen will be back.

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