CollegeCandy » hot wings

Intro To Cooking: Buffalo Wings

Lexi C - Brown — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 15:30:38 +0000

If you’re looking for major brownie points from your tailgating crew, or if you just want to win over the hearts of every carnivorous, beer-chugging dude on campus (and who wouldn’t???) try these wings on for size!

Nothing brings a crowd together like a hearty plate of buffalo wings, especially a crowd of rowdy football fans looking to nosh on something hot and tangy. This all-time bar food favorite is easy to make, and fun to share, especially when double dipping comes into play. This recipe allows you to make your treats as spicy as you like, so either curb the fire breath or BRING ON THE HEAT!

Note: This recipe calls for 24 wings. Adjust as necessary

Ingredients:

12 chicken wings (about 2 lbs.)
2 tablespoons butter, melted
3 tablespoons hot sauce (this is where you can adjust the heat)
1/3 teaspoon cayenne pepper (this is pretty hot)
2 teaspoons paprika (if you don’t have paprika, add slightly more cayenne pepper)
¼ teaspoon salt (or to taste)
1 recipe Blue Cheese Dip (below)

Get Saucy:

1 .Turn your oven on to broil to preheat. Cut off and discard tips of chicken wings (they are the pointy elbow looking appendages that you clearly don’t want to bite into) and cut wings at joints to form 24 pieces. Place chicken wing pieces in a plastic bag and set in a shallow dish.

2. For the marinade, stir together butter, hot sauce, paprika, salt, and cayenne pepper. Pour over chicken wings and seal the bag. Marinate at room temperature for 30 minutes. Drain chicken wings.

3. Place the wings on the unheated rack of a broiler pan. Broil 4 to 5 inches from the heat about 10 minutes or until wings are light brown. Turns wings over (use tongs, or a fork, not your teeth). Broil for 10 to 15 minutes more or until chicken is tender and no longer pink. Serve with Blue Cheese Dip.

Blue Cheese Dip: In a blender (or a food processor if you’re a coed culinary master) place ½ cup of sour cream; 3/4 cup mayonnaise; ½ cup crumbled blue cheese; 1 tablespoon white wine vinegar; and 1 clove of minced garlic. Salt and Pepper to taste. (If you don’t have vinegar, some lemon juice is a nice substitute. Parsley also goes a long way.)

Gettin’ Dirty Behind the Wheel 101

Ashley- Marietta College — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 18:40:42 +0000

The primal sense of empowerment I get from the act of performing roadhead on an unexpecting driver is the top reason I’m a fan. (Asking for service usually results in the service station being closed for the season.) I realize I probably shouldn’t imply all this in one of my first CollegeCandy posts, but rest assured, I’m no roadhead addict. I’m very selective; in fact, my satisfaction is truly only the result of a singular victim.

Being dirty is always a turn-on. Unexpectedly being dirty is an even bigger turn-on; plotting your move between interstate signs and fluctuating traffic, precisely calculating your plan in an almost algorithmic poem. Knowing that you’re about to pounce on your victim as he’s pondering hot wings, crapping at the next rest stop, and while his left testicle is falling asleep crushed upon the relentless seat. Sure, guys are disgusting, but we clearly love them to please them.

The first glance communicating the coming act is the most powerful, letting him know you’ve been strategically planning your sexual endeavor. Though you’re interrupting his man fantasies of dynamite and dinosaurs, he’ll be pleasantly surprised and uncontrollably aroused as you crawl across the seat, ass perked up, and doing whatever naughty things below the belt that drives your victim-of-choice over the edge.

The most gratifying portion of the act as a whole is his helplessness — and the adorable post-satisfaction grin that he can’t wipe off his face till his next cheeseburger and Number Two.

I am proud to admit the sole responsibility of one roadhead-induced speeding ticket.

Though I must admit I admire the ability of the male victim to maintain his composure, I know it’s quite difficult to responsibly do your job in the driver seat with a face buried between your legs. Maybe they should replace all of those “marijuana” public service announcements with roadhead public service announcement? Put the pedal to the medal, big daddy.

My only fear? This creepy thing. Surely nothing in this world called an “Auto Suck” that plugs into an AC adaptor could be sexier than a lovely female with a mischievous mind?!

Coming to Terms with the Existence of Football

Jenni - Syracuse — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 14:30:01 +0000

I don’t do sports. I don’t play them, I don’t watch them, and I most importantly don’t understand them. I still get basketballs, footballs, and blueballs confused. Until I was not-so-gently corrected by a friend, I thought Tiki Barber was the name of a Hawaiian hair salon. So it comes as no surprise that I not only don’t participate in watching the weekend football games, but I actually go out of my way to avoid them.

My roommate and I have an understanding: I leave the apartment when she watches the Eagles game and she leaves the apartment when I watch Grey’s Anatomy. We both find the others’ television viewing choice ridiculous and pointless. On the rare occasion I make the mistake of sticking around during a football game I am subjected to her ear-piercing screams that are so loud and so full of energy that people must mistake her cheers for domestic abuse. When they are winning she shouts; when they are losing she screams. Either way, it’s a lose-lose situation for me.

However, she apparently isn’t the only one that enjoys the sport and over the years I’ve had to endure several games. By several, I mean two. I’ve learned a few things along the way:

1. The only slightly appealing thing about watching the games is the food. Things that I would never consider ordering in a restaurant are suddenly A-Ok when they are sitting on a table in front of you. It’s not until I go home and remove crusty nacho cheese from my hair, Dorito crumbs from my shirt, and a chicken wing bone stuck in between my teeth that I feel truly disgusted with myself.

2. Life isn’t a romantic comedy and men don’t find it endearing or cute when you ask them how the players make a touchdown. No one finds my naivety about the game charming and I’ve stopped asking about the difference between the quarterback and the quarter pounder.

3. The Super Bowl commercials are never worth watching the game. Ever. I can’t understand why people say they watch the game just for the commercials. Are some of the commercials clever? Yes. Are some of the commercials chuckle-worthy? On occasion. Are the commercials equivalent to an episode of The Office? No. Is it ever worth it to sit through an hours-long football game just to say to say that the new Snickers commercial that aired around hour ten was so funny that you smiled? No.

4. People expect you to know everything about your school team. I can’t count the number of times that relatives and neighbors and neighbors’ relatives have come up to me and asked me how the Syracuse team was doing this year. I would be more likely to tell you the average annual income for a Dutch family of four than I would be able to tell you how many games Syracuse has won during any particular season.

As I write this my roommates are comparing the schedules for their respective football teams and posting godforsaken game-day magnets on the fridge. It’s too bad that I’ll have to accidentally throw it out and replace it with my hand-crafted schedule that outlines every rerun of Full House on TV.