“I ———- am entering this wing contest at my own risk and will not hold Kincade’s or any employee legally liable for any medical or mental damages whatsoever.”
Once the 14 contestants sign that waiver, they are ready to begin the 3rd annual Beat the Heat hot sauce-eating contest at Kincade’s, a Lincoln Park bar.
Two hours, countless tear drops, unlimited pitchers of beer and millions of Scoville Units later, they may have regretted their decision.
“You have to have a high tolerance for pain,” warns chef Scott Bartoszek, who has crafted the seven levels of hot sauces from an ungodly selection of peppers, powders and potions. To complete each level the fire-eaters must stomach three wings drenched with progressively hot sauces. The Level 7 sauce registers at over a million Scoville units (which measure the “heat” of a food).
A jalapeno pepper, for example, registers at 4,000.
Level 1
There is a surprising mix of males and females, all young adults brimming with confidence in their tongues and tummies. Most are from the neighborhood and have brought along a support staff of buddies, girlfriends or, in the case of Drew Steinbrunner, trainers. “I used to live above a chicken-wing restaurant,” says “wing coach” Marc Bangser, who offers Steinbrunner tips like drinking beer through a straw.
Contestants are allowed only beer while eating, which as Bartoszek gleefully explains, increases the burn. There are 10-minute breaks between rounds. “I really want the burn to set in,” says the chef.
The Level 1 wings are mild and everyone advances.
Level II
“Now these are good,” explains Steinbrunner of the spicier wings. Kevin Stockmaster of Wyandotte, Mich., is beginning to regret eating 20 wings before the competition.
“My face is starting to puff up,” says Keith Gelman, who advanced to Level 5 last year but is already sweating. He is concerned that his lips will swell up in later rounds.
Everyone advances.
Level III
Joe “The Wing Master” Vallejo of Evanston inhales his wings, needing no more than 20 seconds to strip the meat from the bones. “Spicy,” he mutters between gulps of beer.
At the other end of the bar, Berwyn’s Kevin Connerty is chugging beer from the pitcher and explaining his unorthodox technique: “I punch myself in the [groin] as a distraction,” he says. “It takes my mind off the pain in my mouth.”
“I’ve lost 30 percent of my motor skills,” shrieks Anne Wells as she staggers through the room. “I can’t feel anything but my legs!”
The first contestant quits.
Level IV
When Bartoszek emerges from the kitchen with the Level 4 wings, contestants strap on rubber gloves.
“Holy $*&#,” shouts William Daniels after his first bite, while across the table his fiance, Shanna Kirkpatrick, realizes that her eyelids are twitching. She takes that as a sign to quit.
“It’s all about centering your grieving,” advises Gelman as he stretches out in a corner, sweat and tears mingling on his reddening face.
Wells’ symptoms have progressed to paralysis–her hands are constricting. “I can’t breath right,” she gasps.
Tears are trickling down Courtney Stevens’ face, smudging the lipstick she had applied as a hot-sauce insulator.
Sitting at the bar, Bob Schroeder coolly downs his wings while his buddy, Chris Tzouros, barks like a pro wrestling manager. “Bob’s been through a lot of ridiculous stunts,” he boasts. “I’m a little concerned with his body temperature right now but I’m sure he’ll be all right.”
Vallejo devours his wings, mutters “spicy,” and guzzles another beer.
A few contestants drop out.
Level V
Just the smell from these wings sears the sinuses. Sweat and tears are streaming down Gelman’s face, while his pal Daniels is dealing with a runny nose. “Please don’t kill my fiance,” pleads Kirkpatrick as the chef delivers the wings.
“I think I’m allergic to this,” says Steinbrunner between bites. “I really think I’m dying.”
“Spicy,” mutters Vallejo after inhaling his wings.
Quietly, in the corner, Jar Gallagher is plowing through the levels. She nibbles her wings, dabs her mouth with a napkin and sips her beer with as much grace as can be mustered in a hot sauce-eating contest.
Nearby, Connerty’s self-mutilation technique has failed. He folds and he switches from chugging beer to guzzling milk.
A few other contestants drop out.
Level VI
As the new wings are delivered, bartenders are serving more milk than beer. “Oh, my God!” shouts Daniels after his first bite.
Vallejo has slowed a bit. He downs these wings in 30 seconds and, naturally, mutters “spicy” when he finishes.
“I want to have kids one day,” says Stockmaster as he drops out. With swollen lips Gelman follows suit. He gags between alternating gulps of beer and milk. Not far behind, Stevens also drops out and begins gobbling milk-soaked bread. “I want my mommy,” she cries.
Upon realizing that the sweat beads pouring from his forehead are spicy, Daniels drops out. “I’m very proud of my man,” Kirkpatrick says. “I’d kiss him but my lips might catch fire.”
At the bar, Schroeder is methodically munching. And in the corner Gallagher is quiet, composed and showing no trace of discomfort. “That chick is an animal,” Connerty says.
Level VII
The five remaining contestants line the bar. Steinbrunner has a few bites, then drops out. “That’s the worst-tasting thing I’ve ever had in my life,” he moans. “My compliments to the chef!” He bypasses the milk and demands tequila from the bartender.
It doesn’t look good for Vallejo, who has slowed from his lightning pace. “Spicy,” he sighs as a tear trickles down his face. He bails out along with another contestant, leaving only Schroeder and Gallagher.
Sudden death level
Every level of sauce has been consumed, so the remaining duo will face progressively hot raw peppers: jalapeno through habanero (which registers 100,000 to 300,000 Scoville units). As the bartenders distribute Tums to the moaning dropouts, the two remaining contestants belly up to the bar. Patrons from other areas of Kincade’s have gathered to witness the freak show.
Bartoszek presents both with jalapeno peppers. Gallagher nibbles hers and dabs a napkin at her lips as if she’s at tea service. Schroeder gulps his in one bite. “Forget the triathlon,” shouts Bangser. “This is the most amazing display I’ve ever seen.”
When both jalapenos are stomached the pair advances to the Thai chili pepper. Schroeder gulps his whole and the crowd roars. Gallagher takes one little bite, drops the pepper and for the first time her confidence shows a crack. She mumbles something about quitting and the crowd rushes to her aide. “Jar! Jar! Jar!” they shout.
The support isn’t enough. Gallagher pushes away her Thai chili and concedes defeat. “Bob will keep going till the end of the world,” she says of her rival. Schroeder collects high fives, the $280 purse and the title of Beat the Heat champion, but the quiet girl with the leather tongue has won the hearts of the crowd.
Hot hangover
The following day, maladies varied for contestants.
Stevens feels as if she has done 50 million sit-ups while getting punched 50 million times in the gut.
“But I did pretty good for a nice little Irish girl,” she says.
Champion Schroeder suffered no ill effects, though he spent time in a sauna sweating out the Scovilles.
And Gallagher? Well, she went out for wings the next day.
