In case you need further proof that 2021 is every bit as nutty as its predecessor, need I remind you that in June alone we discovered our president likes to whisper when he makes a point.
We saw a once highly respected federal prosecutor have his law license suspended, forbidding him to practice in the city he helped resurrect from an international disaster just twenty years prior.
We heard from a pop star who apparently is not in charge of her own IUD.
Oh, yes, and let’s not forget chicken wings and tuna fish. It’s these two foodstuffs I wish to concentrate on simply because I have a more personal relationship with both than I do with President Biden, Rudy Giuliani or Britney Spears.
Like most tailgate loving, Super Bowl party obsessed, slightly overweight individuals, I choose to make chicken a health hazard as opposed to a nutritious meal staple. Why broil a meaty, skinless breast and garnish it with steamed broccoli when I can take the least substantial portion of the bird, dunk it in scalding oil, slather it with “Butt Burning” sauce, consume it while making a mess of my shirt, and then repeat the process 19 more times? I’ve been doing this regularly since discovering chicken wings in 1985 when a friend in West Palm Beach, Florida said, “Want to check out this new place called Hooters?”
What Happened to our Chicken Wings?
The National Chicken Council blames the shortage on a combination of circumstances, notably wings’ popularity during quarantine and a freak Texas winter storm that saw millions of chickens — and Senator Ted Cruz’s reputation — perish. Things have gotten so dire that Wingstop, a Texas-based chicken wing chain, has encouraged its customers to order chicken thighs instead. I’m not sure I’ve ever knowingly done this; I do know I’ve never offered to bring mild and spicy thighs to a poker party. Pleading with a wing lover to seek alternative body parts is like a waiter in a five-star seafood restaurant saying, “We’re out of lobster tail but our chef prepares a mean head. Interested?”
Speaking of food that swims in the ocean, Subway, makers of fast-food sandwiches prepared by sandwich “artists,” found itself defending whether the primary ingredient in its tuna fish sandwich is actually tuna. The controversy erupted when a New York Times reporter sent the sandwich to a commercial food testing lab, which concluded “no amplifiable tuna DNA was present in the sample.”
At least chicken thighs contain chicken.
A Tuna Defense Straight from the Horse’s Mouth
Subway, naturally, defended itself, stating DNA testing was not reliable. The lab also admitted that whatever was in the sandwich could have been so overprocessed that making an identification was impossible. Former and current Subway employees joined the fray on social media: “I just want to go on record with this: Decades ago, I worked in my dad’s Subway and made the day’s tuna salad by opening a large can of what was unquestionably tuna and mixing it with a truly alarming amount of mayonnaise,” one of my Twitter followers wrote.
The “is it or isn’t it” tuna crisis hasn’t affected me like the wing shortage, but only because, during the pandemic, I discovered Subway’s veggie subs are quite tasty and the healthiest option on its menu. Consuming one lessens the guilt I’ll feel when snarfing mass quantities of chicken wings, providing I choose not to sell them on the black market. That 10-pound bag in my freezer might just pay for my daughter’s college education.
So, add wings to the list of hard-to-find quarantine items, alongside toilet paper and hand soap. While state legislatures argue how, or even if, to teach critical race theory in schools, consider adding “Critical Sandwich Theory” to curriculums. Somebody needs to get to the bottom of a tuna’s heritage. The Pandemic of 2020 may be over but the weirdness it spawned continues to haunt us, even at mealtimes.
It’s enough to make you scream. Or whisper.
