11/03/2022
By Kate Stone Lombardi
I don’t watch much TV, which means that half the time, I don’t know what my friends are talking about.
But earlier this week, when we were out visiting my son and his wife in California, they introduced us to a TV show that I cannot believe exists. It’s called “Hot Ones.”
Here’s the premise: Invite a celebrity who has a new movie, tv series, book, or whatever to promote to appear on the show. Set out 10 chicken wings before the guest. Each wing features a different hot sauce, and the wings get progressively spicier as the featured guest eats them. The drama involves pounding music and flashing a “Scoville Scale” rating for each bottle of hot pepper sauce featured.
The host asks interview questions between wings.
I couldn’t make this up. Worse, I was fascinated. I watched and listened to Viola Davis belch loudly and repeatedly. I saw Trevor Noah take a bite of a wing, pronounce it “trash, not food,” and then finish eating it. Queen Latifah began dabbing at her eye makeup when she started to sweat after the fifth wing.
It’s kind of like watching a car wreck but one in which the passengers are famous and attractive.
A while ago, I limited my news intake, but now I think the world in general may be too much for me.
All I want to do is read novels, take walks in the woods and cuddle my grandchild. Here’s a photo I took last week at Rockefeller Preserve. I think it looks a little like a Monet, but then, I don’t get out much.