Hubris kills, but I possessed plenty of it as I looked to prove the hardiness of my tastebuds against the “angry sauce” served by the repetitively named Wings Dip: House of French Dip. Located in a strip mall on Meridian Avenue in San Jose, the just-opened second location serves two things: giant sandwiches and flamethrowing wings.

They fry their chicken in a “4,000 degree wok,” an impossible but telling bit of hyperbole. Their superheated flash-cooking method steams a supple tenderness into the dark meat and crisps the skin until crackly and receptive to a globe-spanning array of sauces like red curry, teriyaki and cajun.

After sizing me up, the cashier deemed me worthy of only half-power of their up-to-10 scale of angry sauce. I took it as a personal affront and resolved to prove I was a manly man.

Six sumptuous Dai Ching wings ($7.95) arrived, slathered in a syrupy burgundy glaze. The first bites went down easy, but as I turned to smirk at the register, a hellfire leapt from my diaphragm. I huffed from a hollow mouth, batting the heat down to a manageable level. Then I licked my lips. Big mistake. The burn consumed me. I tore through two dozen napkins. Disoriented, I sought comfort in the Parmesan Garlic Wings ($7.95).

These wings were served like a chicken salad—well, if you substitute grilled breast cubes for fresh-fried wings, lettuce for julianne-cut fries, and veggies for garlic, caramelized red onions, blistered jalapeno rounds and a heavy sprinkling of parmesan dust. They were savory, salty and satiating, but their still-sizzling temperature added z-axis dimensions to my burn. My cheeks flushed, my eyes lolled, and the dams of my sweat glands broke, unleashing an embarrassing torrent. The 6-year-old next to me looked worried. Her parents nodded knowingly.

I found reprieve in the Tri-Tip Cheese Steak ($11.95). The dense, buttery roll came stuffed with thick cuts of smoked steak, pliant blackened bell peppers and gooey provolone cheese that squelched the fire. Other menu standouts include BBQ Pit Sandwiches (starting at $8.95), the namesake French Dip (starting at $9.95) and the doubly decadent Pulled Pork Nacho Fries ($8.00).

As the pain subsided, I understood the benefits of this self-induced torture. The frequent comfort of my easy life had been disrupted. And I was better for it. My brow cooled as drying sweat caught the bay breeze and residual endorphins coursed through my circulatory system. I staggered to the nearest couch and fell into a deep digestive slumber, humbled and satisfied.


Wing Dip House of French Dip
910 Meridian Ave. San Jose.