Dave’s Hot Chicken will have you begging for more, and maybe for mercy

“You acknowledge that eating the REAPER” — the shift to ALL CAPS is pure evil genius, like turning the corner and bumping into Michael Myers with a 16-inch blade — “can cause you harm, including, but not limited to, bodily injury, property damage, emotional distress, or even death.”

Now, maybe the warning about “property damage” should have been a clue that this is P.T. Barnum-level hooey, with no more relation to reality than the mermaids of Fiji. But as I took my copy of the waiver, the young woman behind the counter wished me good luck and suggested if I needed any emergency help, she could assist. She didn’t seem to be joking. Or if she was, she was a deadpan artist.

At this point, though, I must admit I was only partially aware of my surroundings because of the other thing the woman said right after I placed my order: In a voice loud enough to raise the dead, she bellowed, “REEEEEEEEEEE-PEEEEEER!” To which every other employee in the joint repeated the word at the same volume.

If I had, even for a second, considered wimping out on the reaper-level chicken, I was now committed to it. Any cowardice would be played out in public, probably with a spotlight shining on my table in a corner of the Dave’s Hot Chicken outlet inserted artfully, playfully, into the former Z-Burger space inside the Tivoli Theatre in Columbia Heights. So I prepared as best as I could: I ordered a chocolate shake, fries slathered in cheese and a creamy kale slaw, all with the hope that they would douse whatever wildfire was about to erupt inside my mouth.

As I listened for my number to be called, I sort of felt like I was waiting my turn at the gallows, hoping some high-ranking official would swoop in and commute my sentence. The wait gave me time to think about my previous experiences at Dave’s, the Los Angeles-based Nashville hot chicken chain that opened this, its first D.C. location, in March.

If you follow the fast-casual industry with even medium-casual curiosity, you’ve probably heard about Dave’s. About six years ago, its founders pulled together enough scratch to host a pop-up in an East Hollywood, Calif., parking lot, frying up tenders to order underneath portable canopies. The dish that hid in plain sight for decades in Nashville’s Black neighborhoods had already gone mainstream in 2015 when KFC got into the hot chicken business. But Dave’s takes it to a whole other level, proving that a once-hyper-local sandwich has become popular enough to support a chain with grand ambitions. Dave’s opened its 100th location in January, with 700 more reportedly in the pipeline. Its investors include Drake and Samuel L. Jackson, who should probably read Ezekiel 25:17 to anyone who orders the reaper chicken.

I had been pacing myself at Dave’s, building up enough tolerance (and courage) to try the reaper-level tender. On my first visit — the dude at the entrance opened the door for me and shouted, “I got one guest walking in!” like I was Sinatra walking into the Sands — I ordered two chicken sliders with fries. I asked for the “hot” seasoning. Ordering anything less from a hot chicken concept, I thought, was a cop-out, even if Dave’s provides options for the heat-averse, including “no spice,” presumably for those who got lost on their way to KFC. I’m not sure anyone in Nashville would have recognized my sliders as “hot.” The burn was moderate at best, though I must say that the chile-pepper pinch made for a nice contrast to the juicy halal-certified breast meat, which had been brined within an inch of its life. At one point, my nose did start to run, but I never felt like I was outside my comfort zone.

For my second visit, I ordered a pair of “extra hot” tenders, which arrived on plain white bread. After two bites, I was feeling cocky, like I could handle this heat without incident. After a few more bites, I realized I was a fool. The burn builds with each mouthful, until your head starts to swim and your tongue begs for relief. I tried to use myself as a guinea pig — to see how long I could let the spice irritate my palate before I reached for my vanilla shake, so smooth and creamy and comforting. I found my hand reaching for the drink on its own, as if my subconscious were screaming: If you’re too stupid to do something about this, I’m taking over. What I admired about this sandwich is that it wasn’t all about the detonation: The seasoning blend — created by Dave Kopushyan, a chef with fine-dining chops — was spicy but counterbalanced with what, to me, smacked of sweeter and more aromatic spices.

Ordering the reaper-level bird at Dave’s has become something of a spectator sport. Many have taken on the “reaper challenge,” including Usher, who informed his Instagram followers that “my head is itchy.” He then started to dance “for no reason.” Kelly Jackson has also accepted the reaper challenge. She’s the Dave’s Hot Chicken franchisee who opened the D.C. location. She owns the rights to franchise Dave’s in Northern Virginia. Her next location will be in Tysons Corner, set to debut in June or July. As part of her due diligence, Jackson said she tasted everything on the Dave’s menu, including the reaper chicken.

“I did take one bite of the reaper,” Jackson told me, “and I will tell you, it burnt my face off.”

When I finally grabbed my order of reaper chicken, I could feel the heat before I tasted it. Its mix of chile peppers, including the Carolina Reaper with its 2.2 million Scoville units, vaporized and entered my system via the nose, like a virus. If you want to know what fear smells like, this is it. I tore off a piece of tender and popped it in my mouth. The reaction was immediate. I started to cough. My mouth turned blisteringly hot, as if I had just mistaken a curling iron for a candy stick. Water was pooling around my tongue. I began to breathe heavily, with an open mouth, like a dog at the beach. I sucked down a third of my shake, which provided only brief comfort. I had two bites and quit.

The Velvet Underground’s “Sweet Jane” was playing on the sound system. After all these years, I still don’t know what the song is about. All I knew was I wanted it to stop, along with this burn. So, would I do it all over again? I think the better question is: Would I stop again at Dave’s, given all the competition for spicy chicken? In a heartbeat — just not for a sandwich that threatens to stop my heart from beating.

3301 14th St. NW, 771-200-3080; daveshotchicken.com.

Hours: 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. daily.

Nearest Metro: Columbia Heights, with a short walk to the restaurant.

Prices: $1.99 to $13.99 for all items on the menu.