When Hot isn't Hot

I don’t like giving people suggestions when it comes to ordering.  It’s not that I don’t have my menu favorites – Hooters Cobb, chicken tossed in hot sauce or Training Burgers with American cheese and LOTS of jalapeños – it’s that what I like doesn’t necessarily correlate to what you’d like.  This is why when asked what I’d suggest I generally give some bullshit answer that makes sure to include several items that serve as a pretty good cross-section of the menu; you get your suggestions, but still have to rely on personal preference to choose between several offerings.  The last thing I want to do is suggest something I love only to have you not enjoy your meal because it doesn’t suit your tastes.  That’s just not good for either of us.

Enjoy your wings, asshat!

The one exception to my aversion to offering menu suggestions occurs when people order wings.  I will ALWAYS offer my suggestions in this area because in all honestly Hooters basic buffalo sauces aren’t nearly as hot as they are billed.  As I like to put it, our hot is more of a medium, our medium is basically mild and mild is pretty much nonexistent.  And that is not an exaggeration.  For some reason Hooters has “dumbed-down” sauces.  It’s just the way it is.

Knowing that our sauces are milder than their names, I always suggest people order one sauce up from the one they think they want when choosing from our basics.  I relay the fact that our buffalo sauces are butter based and that the spice very gradually increases as you go up the scale while the butter decreases.  And though I’ve had many people be skeptical, most people follow my advice and step their ordering up.  In nearly three years of suggesting this, not one person has said I was wrong.  In fact, most people have thanked me for the advice.

Then there are the people who don’t listen.  They order the stupid mild – which is a lot more butter than spice – and then complain that their wings weren’t sauced.  At this point I’ll do my best to once again explain that the sauces are butter based which means that they melt when paired with the hot, fried wings.  And since mild is so butter heavy it seemingly all but disappears to a lot of people.  I will then offer to grab them a side of the hotter sauce – which I had offered them in the first place.

And some people will be happy with this.  And of course some won’t.  Some people will spend the rest of their Hooters’ experience hating the absolute shit out of me because they are chowing down on some wings that aren’t what they expected.  They will totally forget what I suggested and instead think I’m horrible at my job.  All over some stupid wings. 

Meanwhile, I will think you’re a complete and total asshole who had every chance to have some really awesome wings.  I will think that you should have listened to the girl who has spent 30+ at Hooters every week for the past three effing years.  I don’t just make shit up, people.  I am a Hooters expert.  It’s not my fault you didn’t listen to me.  It’s also not may fault that you’re a stubborn prick.

So next time your waitress offers you a suggestion, remember that she probably knows what’s she’s talking about.  Odds are she is not out to get you and simply wants you to actually enjoy your meal.  It might be hard to believe, but I want you to like what you’re eating.  After all if you hate it you’ll tip me like shit – even though it will be no fault of my own.  Don’t even get me started on that shit.

Silverware and Wings are Not Friends

Yum?  CREDIT.

In case anyone was wondering, wings are most defiantly a finger food.  This means you actually get to pick them up with your hands and stuff them in your hungry little face.  Your fingers become your utensils.  That’s just the way it is with wings.  And it’s one of the many reasons why we love the shit out of them.

That being said, nothing makes me cringe more than when a diner asks for silverware after I drop off a plate of spicy, greasy goodness at a table.  While I’m all for my guests being happy, there is probably nothing more awkward than watching a person try to attack a pile of wings with a fork and knife.  It’s just completely and utterly unnatural.

Imagine someone attempting to hold down a hot wing with a fork as it desperately tries to roll across the plate.  In their other hand, a knife painstakingly works at cutting the meat from the little, round bones.  The whole scene is just as uncomfortable as it sounds.

Every time this happens it takes everything within me not to yell, “pick the damn wings up and eat them!”  After all there is nothing in the least bit civilized about chicken wings.  And I think that’s kind of the point.  Wings are one of those wonderful foods that allow you to forgo all manners and eat like a caveman.  You can get dirty and no one cares.  You can eat with abandon.  You can be a total pig.  It’s all so wonderfully American.

So when it comes to wings, fork and knife need not apply.  If you’re one of those “proper” sorts of people that attempt the wing cutlery combo, please remember what you’re eating.  Also remember that your server is probably laughing at you as you struggle.  Do yourself a favor and pick those wings up and dig in.  After all there’s a reason why I give you endless paper towels and wet naps.  And it’s not so you can use a stupid fork.

Get Her Wings

This year for Valentine's Day, Hooters is being really sweet and giving free wings to all the people they love.  People Hooters loves include beer drinkers, hula hoopers, fried food addicts, scrunch sock fans and anyone else who chances through the doors today.  This probably includes you.  Yay, you get free wings!

All you have to do is order ten of your favorite wings and Hooters will give you ten for free.  Whether you prefer bone-in or boneless, hot or mild, half of them will be free.  Pretty sweet.

Now, what might not be so sweet is the way they decided to advertise this wingtastic event.  Hooters decided to go with the tag line, "No Ring?  Get Here Wings!"  Don't get me wrong, I'm a girl that effing loves wings, but I have a feeling that most women probably wouldn't really appreciate the sentiment on Valentine's Day.  Especially if she's the type of woman you like enough to give a ring to.

I imagine a guy down on one knee.  He's sweaty and nervous as he hides something behind his back; he tries to work up his courage.  Expectantly gazing into his eyes, his lady love stands gripping his right hand. She's been waiting for this moment for so long.  She's already planning the wedding as his hand begins to move from behind his back.  And then she sees it.  Not a ring, but a plate of piping hot wings.

That, my friends, is romance.

Of course this is extremely dramatized.  Go, get your wings.  Just don't give them to your girlfriend as a sign of your undying love.

I Will Do (Most) Anything for Hooters, But I Won't Do That (Unless They Make Me)

Today I was asked to do something at work that I have tried desperately to avoid for the past two years of my employment at Hooters.  I was asked to debone wings.  Before I start in on my varied reasons for hating wing deboning, please enjoy the following video of a Hooters Girl mutilating someone's meal.



Yes, that is wing deboning.  I will start by saying she did it totally wrong.  And don't even get me started on the fact that she isn't wearing gloves.  We ALWAYS wear gloves even if "you're not eating this one".  But that's not the point.  The point is, that there is nothing I hate more than having to sit down and remove the meat from the bones of a plate full of someone else's chicken wings.  But lets start with why Hooters condones this.

Hooters has a policy known as "hands off"  or "hands free" service.  Basically this means that Hooters wants it's waitresses to cater to the customer as much as possible.  The simplest example is opening ranch and other dressings for guests at the table - this example is also a nonnegotiable step of Hooters Hospitality.  However hands off service can go much further to include just about everything.  As my trainer from corporate put it, "imagine your customer has no hands, short of eating, what would you have to do for them to make them comfortable?"  Well I can open the door, pull out their stool, open menus, rip paper towels from the roll, pour beer and so on and so forth all the way to deboning wings.  I like the idea of this step of service.  It's just one of the many things that makes Hooters stand out.

So yeah, I get why Hooters does the whole deboning wings thing now and again.  I get that it's just another "above and beyond" way of delivering Hooters' signature service.  That doesn't make it appetizing.  And that's the thing, I don't find anything appetizing about a girl donning a pair of rubber gloves and ripping into my food as she burns the shit out of her fingers.  There she is tearing into a plate of wings, removing the sauce with her gloved hands like a clumsy, drunk surgeon as she turns what was ordered into something else entirely.

Wait, don't we already have boneless wings on the menu?  Yup, there they are.  Boneless wings that require no manhandling.  But of course if order those you don't get the pleasure of treating your Hooters Girl like a slave.  Or the pleasure of being freaking lazy.

And yes, I did debone his wings.  I just hated it the whole time.

All-You-Can-Eat Wings

Tuesday nights mean all-you-can-eat wings at my Hooters.  This means that all sorts of hungry people come out of the woodwork to stuff their faces for $12.99.  I'm pretty sure there are few things more American.  God bless the U.S. of A.!  Whatever.  As I was saying, Tuesday nights mean you can get all the wings your tummy can handle for just $12.99.  Delicious, greasy goodness.

Generally all-you-can-eat equates to twenty wings.  Served in plates of ten, four times out of five people will usually just order two plates.  Sometimes people order three.  More than three plates is a rarity indeed.  Basically what all this means is that we usually get rid of lots of wings and still make money.  Yeah, not as much as we normally would perhaps, but whatever.  A man still has to drink his money away, right?

Last week I sold my share of wings.  And most people hardly took advantage.  As usual the twenty wing limit ruled the evening.  People's eyes just seem to be bigger than their stomachs.  Then the linemen came in.  Eight huge, collegiate linemen with hunger in their eyes and less than twenty bucks in their pockets.  It was evident right away that these guys were here to eat some wings.  Of course by eat I actually mean destroy.  Yes, these guys were here to destroy some wings.  I wisely notified the kitchen.

Ten at time the wings flew out of the sell window at speeds previously unheard of.  Almost as quickly as the wings appeared at the table, the mountain of bones grew.  Naturally, being manly type men who enjoy visualizing their conquests, not a bone was allowed to be cleared from the table.  No pre-busing allowed.  Annoying.  Yes.  Amazing.  Damn right.

Slowly, men began to drop out.  It seems even a lineman can only handle so many wings.  Stomachs were full and happy, but a few were out to prove something.  A few were ready to make both wings and friends their little bitches.  Finally, there were only two in a race to eat the most wings.  And eat they did.  Plates and plates of wings.  And the bone mountain grew.

Eventually the pace slowed and pain set in.  One finally dropped the white flag of surrender.  He'd finished eighty wings.  Being a real man, it was decided that the last competitor would have to finish one more serving for the win.  Ten more wings and he had stomached ninety hot wings.  But what is ninety?  Ninety is just some number that is way more than fifty but not quite 100.  Ninety is a number for pussies.   Why not go for 100 and be a real man?

That's right, last Tuesday I witness a man eat 100 wings.  I was disgustingly inspired.  As such I made him a one of a kind award - a wing plate emblazoned with "I ate 100 wings @ Hooters" in permanent marker.  A real family heirloom to hand down to the kids for generations.  We also gave him a t-shirt.  And a prime spot on our photo "Wall of Shame."  And what I can only imagine is the painful satisfaction of 100 wings.  All for $12.99.  I wonder who got the best end of that deal.

When all was done the eight linemen put down 680 wings.  At $12.99 a piece.  That's 680 wings for $103.92.  Savvy shopping, boys.

Hopefully I'll see you tonight, my linemen.  That's if you've awoken from your food comas yet of course.

Reader Stories: Wingersizing

I present you with the first of hopefully many reader submitted stories.  And this one come all the way from freaking Australia.  Australia, people!  So all you folks in California and Florida and Texas and other places with lots of Hooters better lock it up because you just got owned.  Now submit people!

Some friends and I took a trip to the States last year (from Australia) and of course Hooters was up there on our to-do list.  We went to one close by, in Santa Monica I believe and were seated by the window. While we were waiting for our food, I happened to glance outside and noticed a rather large man performing some very odd stretches.  He would squat, then lift one leg, then squat again and transfer to the other leg.  He did this repeatedly for a good 10 minutes then sat down again like nothing was weird about that at all.

I noticed the girl serving him was heading out with a plate of wings, and stopped her to ask what the hell was up with him. She said he was a regular, and that he always came along for all you can eat wings (or something like that) and in between plates he did his stretches, apparently it helped him make more room so he could eat more wings and get his money's worth. She thought he was hilarious, as did we.


Peet (read more of Peet's awesomeness on her blog, www.peetcancook.com)

Dear Lord, I effing love this.  What I love most though is that my new best friend Australian friend, Pete, had the foresight to take a photo of this amazing moment, which I submit to burn your eyes and possibly blind you now.  I apologize for any Lasik treatments you may require after viewing the photo below.

Yes, that is the culprit stretching his way to overeating, wingalicious happiness.  Someone should find him and tell him to make a workout video; he'd probably make millions.  Stretching/wing eating supersets?  Yup, this man is clearly a genius.


Submit your Hooters stories to girlandguitar@live.com and be featured on Girl and Guitar!

Valentines and Gourmet Wings

Due to my unfortunate accident, I didn't work the Valentines shift at Hooters.  I'm sure it was awesome and by awesome I mean in no way different than any other Sunday night at Hooters; basically because I don't think any guy in his right mind would take his girlfriend to Hooters for Valentines Day.  I mean he could, but he'd probably only take her if he really didn't want to have sex.

Obviously my divorced GM, who probably hasn't had sex in about 87 years doesn't know this fact.  He spent all week telling us to tell poor girls who probably want nothing more than once nice dinner a year to bring their boyfriends to Hooters for a Valentines Day gourmet wing dinner.  Yes, I said gourmet wing dinner.  For $32.99 you not only get twenty greasily delicious (ok, there I'm not kidding, they literally are delicious) hot wings, but you also get an oh so classy bottle of Korbel champagne.   In case you're unaware, that's the shittiest of all champagnes, second only to the one and only Cook's - high school staple.

Now usually, the Hooters gourmet wing dinner comes with a bottle of Dom Perignon and a higher price.  Not so at our Hooters, because GM decided Montana people aren't classy enough for that.  Probably he's right, but I have a feeling that has more to do with the perceived class of Hooters than the class of Montanans.  Thanks, GM, for assuming we're all podunk idiots.  Then again his favorite thing to say is "I seen..." so maybe he has a point.

All I know is that most girlfriends do not want to take their boyfriends to Hooters on Valentines Day.  Even more than that, they probably don't want some hot chick in a Hooters uniform telling their boyfriends to come in on Valentines Day.  Just a hunch.  I mean I really do love Hooters, but the madness has to end somewhere.HooHHooHHoo

And no, I didn't have a Valentine.  What?  You didn't ask that you say?  Whatever.