I sat in a leather booth at Matt’s Bar on a Man-date with my buddies Gumbo and Chuck. The sign hanging above our heads read, “Fear the Cheese!” And they weren’t kidding. The famous Jucy Lucy hamburger had dangerously hot cheese stuffed between the two thin burger patties. The burger had the potential of ruining Your. Face. But that’s why we were there. On our last Man-date, the three of us sat at the oyster bar at the swank restaurant Salut at 50^th and France and delicately sampled oysters from all over the country. For three dudes, it was about the wussiest Man-date ever. To bring back some assemblage of manhood, we welcomed the threat of scalding hot cheese.

 Our waitress brought our Jucy Lucys to the booth and gave us a stern look. She hovered over us, clad in a gaudy Christmas Sweater even though it was March.

“You are grown men in a free country,” the waitress said. “You can eat the hamburgers as fast as you want. But be careful.”

“What’s the best way to eat a Jucy Lucy?” Gumbo asked. He was Jucy virgin.

“Let it cool. Keep the burger over the table. Bite in easy. And protect your bare spots,” the waitress said. Then she walked away, delivered food to the next booth, and said the exact same thing.

Chuck and I were veterans of the Jucy Lucy, so we waited to bite in. We casually picked at our big basket of fries. But Gumbo paid no mind to the waitress’s instructions. He negligently chomped into his burger. Flaming hot cheese from the middle of the burger erupted all over his face.

“Oh! God!” Gumbo howled. Chuck and I just sat there and shook our heads. Gumbo put his whole mouth around his beer and started guzzling so fast it was like he was eating the beer glass. 

“You gots to nibble the Jucy,” I said, taking a well placed small bite. 

A college basketball game was playing on a large TV in the background. Chuck intensively followed the action.

“I totally have March Madness,” he said. “I picked Pitt to win it all.”

“I don’t,” Gumbo bluntly said. “I don’t watch squeaky shoes.”

“Me either,” I said.

“You hockey fans are the worst,” Chuck said.

“Yes we are.”

“Can I get sentimental for a minute?” Chuck asked.

“Oh, God. Here we go.”

 “I’m thinking of asking my girlfriend to move in with me,” Chuck said.

 “Watch the baby batter, dude,” Gumbo said. 

“Oh, yeah, Chuck. She moves in and its Boom-Boom city,” I offered. 

Gumbo took another negligent chomp. “Oh! God!” He howled in pain for the second time in under a minute. A tiny morsel of blistering hot cheese stuck to his lip. His face was on fire.

“Man down!” I mockingly yelled. “Man down!”

 “Eat it like a gyro,” Chuck instructed. “Don’t set it down. And nibble.”

“Nibbling is for birds,” Gumbo retorted. “And you two suck-wads.”

Gumbo reared his head back in pain and guzzled more beer. He held his burger firmly in his hand, loving every minute of his face being on fire.