When Brian Willett arrived at the University at North Carolina, he discovered that Carolinians are as particular about their pork barbecue as Buffalonians are about chicken wings.

In western Carolina, chopped pork is dressed in a vinegary tomato sauce, while easterners call tomato in barbecue sauce heresy. One thing they agree on is Texas Pete, a cayenne hot sauce served on the side as a flavor booster.

Except at the Pi Lambda Phi fraternity house in Chapel Hill, where the perennial Buffalo-area favorite Frank’s Red Hot has taken a beachhead, thanks to Willett.

Since Orchard Park native Willett started helping with the food shopping for his fraternity brothers, it’s Frank’s Red Hot that is served alongside the chopped pork in their dining room.

“When I went shopping with the head of my meal plan, I started having him buy the Frank’s instead,” Willett said. “A lot of people liked it, because they had never experienced it before.”

French’s, the condiment giant that owns the Frank’s Red Hot brand, recently honored the sauce’s biggest fans, chosen after a nationwide search that started at the Buffalo Chicken Wing Festival last September.

Willett, a semifinalist, reported having arrived at North Carolina for school loaded with “a couple huge packs from Sam’s Club and got my friends addicted.”

Though it doesn’t get much respect outside chicken wing fanciers, Frank’s pedigree and vinegar-based cayenne-pepper flavor profile resembles that of Tabasco, its more heralded cousin from Louisiana.

The first bottle of Frank’s Red Hot was produced in 1920, in New Iberia, La., by a partnership between pepper farmer Adam Estillette and bottling plant owner

Jacob Frank. Today, it’s produced in Springfield, Mo.

The big difference between present-day versions of the two: Tabasco is significantly spicier.

Maybe that’s why Frank’s was on hand that night in the kitchen of an Italian restaurant called the Anchor Bar, in a Northeastern city not previously associated with spicy food. So Teressa Belissimo would pick up the Frank’s bottle to gently spice up her crispy chicken wings.

In 1964, Frank’s was an unheralded competitor to Tabasco, both sauces with their roots in Louisiana. According to the company history, nothing notable happened concerning Frank’s until creation of the Buffalo chicken wing, which was spiced up with the Anchor Bar’s standard cayenne sauce.

Now Frank’s has its admirers coast to coast, often because of the evangelistic efforts of transplants like Willett.

“I think my blood is 50 percent Frank’s,” Willett wrote in his essay, penned at last year’s Buffalo Chicken Wing Festival. “I’ve actually elicited stares by taking it into restaurants with me.”

The essay that really fired up the judges, including members of the Durkee’s staff, was from Bryce Hopkins of Cheektowaga.

“Frank’s is, to me, like a religion,” wrote Hopkins, a freshman at Canisius College studying for a political science and communications double major.

“No meal is complete without the exquisite taste of Frank’s running down my throat. The sheer euphoria can only be compared to going to heaven. I know I am the ultimate Red Hot fan because Frank’s completes me.”

Hopkins crafted his prose poem while taking a break from hopscotching between the festival’s chicken wing stands. For two minutes’ effort and a complete lack of understatement, Hopkins has been dubbed the ultimate Red Hot fan.

What does he win? A four-day trip to San Diego, where he will be feted by Food Network personality Kevin Roberts, also known as “The Food Dude,” at Roberts’ San Diego restaurant.

Roberts, who has been known to drink Frank’s from the bottle, will do a cooking demonstration for Hopkins and his guest for the trip: his mother Jane.

“It’s an early Mother’s Day gift,” explains Hopkins, who as one of four children growing up, always had a bottle of Frank’s to reach for, he says. “It’ll be a nice breather after finals.”

Hopkins recoils from the suggestion that he might have another bottle around for when Frank’s just isn’t hot enough. “I see no reason,” he said, “to break the family tradition of Franks.”

It was Heidi Marshall’s mom that got her started on the Frank’s train, with a bottle on the table to add a bit more zip to the chili. Knowing her need, Marshall’s mom brought her bottles at Ashland University, in Ohio.

Now, the Jamestown sales professional packs her own Frank’s wherever she goes. “I carry a large purse, because I am a girl,” she offered. “I could probably carry the large bottle, but I don’t.”

She packs because nothing bothers her like asking the server at a Western New York restaurant for Red Hot, especially at breakfast, and being handed Tabasco without apology. Like they’re the same thing.

“Yes, in Western New York,” she repeated. “It’s very sad.”

That doesn’t mean the Frank’s tradition can’t expand. New traditions can taste just as good. One of Willett’s favorite Frank’s uses down in North Carolina isn’t available most places in Buffalo: grits.

For a Franks-at-breakfast guy who was already putting it on toast, cooked cornmeal was a logical next step.

What didn’t make quite as much sense was the Frank’s Red Hot shot-downing contest Willett got into one night at the frat.

The winner, who wasn’t Willett, stopped after 13 shots of Frank’s. “He was chugging gallons of water later on,” Willett said. “He was feeling the effects.”

The local promoter, Willett, felt he should reach double digits, and stopped after 10. “I did have a bottle of Tums by my side later on,” he acknowledged.

But he had to stand and be counted.

“I was willing to do it,” said Willett. “That’s how much I love Frank’s.