You Want That Crow Extra Hot?

By Jack Limpert


Charlie likes his food hot.

Political analyst Charlie Cook, in a column yesterday, said: “If Re­pub­lic­ans gath­er at their mid-Ju­ly con­ven­tion in Clev­e­land and end up nom­in­at­ing either Trump or Car­son, I will dine on crow, most likely deep-fried, but I don’t ex­pect to be reach­ing for the Pep­to-Bis­mol.”

If it happens, the crow will not only be deep-fried but also likely slathered with hot sauce.

A few years back, Ken DeCell, another Washingtonian editor, and I had lunch with Charlie at a downtown DC restaurant. Ken is from Mississippi, where he grew up drinking a Coca Cola for breakfast, and Charlie is from Louisiana, where the hotter the food the better.

The restaurant specialized in “Nuevo Latino” cuisine and on the menu was jerk chicken, a dish Charlie knew from Louisiana. When the waiter took our orders, Charlie ordered the jerk chicken and asked if it was hot.

“Pretty hot,” the waiter said.

“Tell the kitchen to kick it up a little,” Charlie told him.

When the food arrived. Ken and I were sitting across from Charlie and as he began to eat the jerk chicken we could see his face getting redder with beads of perspiration on his forehead.

I looked over at the waiter who was standing nearby, looking at our table and smiling.

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