To my dismay, my food was pretty much chicken wings, in a powerfully sweet and sticky sauce -- and copious amount of it. Now, I have no high-falutin judgements about foods that other folks eat--well, except for junk or fast food, but that's another story....There is nothing conceptually wrong with chicken wings and I'm aware that they are popular. What follows is my own unique reactions to what, for me, was less than ideal.
I've always been adverse to getting messy when I eat. When I visited India, I had a couple of meals with the consistency of stew without any silver wear, or even bread sop it up. I thought that was tough. But this was worse.
At first, I tried to eat the chicken with a knife and fork--as I am want to do with all meals (I also dislike when Asian restaurants only give you a fork), however this quickly proved too frustrating. The chicken was too tough, there were too many bones -- After about five minutes of struggling with my plastic utensils, I gave up.
Alas, I had to use my hands. Did I also mention that I had been a vegetarian for 16 years and was unaccustomed to touching meat with my hands? Egads! The thick, sticky sauce quickly covered the first half of all my fingers and each time I raised a piece to my mouth, to gingerly bite some meat off, it kept getting on my cheeks, chin and even my nose. Then there were other problems: bones, lots of them, and in such inconsistent, odd clusters, that I kept wondering what part of the bird is this? There were other parts--clumps of hard-ish tissue -- I didn't even want to consider what they were. Am I eating franken-chicken? This only heightened my anxiety. I ping-ponged between that and revulsion, oh and did I forget to mention the embarrassment? It was fascinating to me that this experience triggered a feeling of being an incompetent, uncoordinated toddler and I hated that.