Buffalo Wings
This is from the archives -- my original website -- back when there was a thing in my life, known as the BUFFALO WING. Read on, all ye carnivores:
Where can one get good Buffalo wings?
Some of you might not take this question seriously, but I mean to tell you that when it comes to hot wings, I'm all business. For the unenlightened (and some bar-owners I've run into over the years), let me start with a few quick identifying characteristics for an acceptable chicken wing:
First of all, a wing should be extremely well cooked and crispy on the outside, without an excessive amount of fatty skin hanging off. And aside from a generous slathering of hot sauce, they should be very, very nude. They simply cannot be dipped in batter. If you get a wing that has been dipped in batter, the establishment is definitely trying to cover something up. And Lord knows -- IT MIGHT NOT BE CHICKEN.
Second, your wings should be served with celery and bleu cheese sauce. Now, I've never been a huge celery fan. And with any other dish, I hate bleu cheese. But the short-order chefs of the world shouldn't start substituting stuff in hopes of some kinda gourmet renaissance via common bar food -- tradition is tradition. And in this modern age of cellular telephones and the Playstation 2, if we haven't found anything better to accompany hot wings and a cold beer, it probably ain't gonna happen. The worst setup I ever encountered was a side order of ranch dressing and carrots -- do I need to tell you how the wings were?!? Also, points deducted if you have to ASK for celery and bleu cheese on the side, and extra points for big-ole chunks of bleu cheese in the sauce. And if they say they don't serve celery and bleu cheese, that's a very bad sign. My advice is to get up and walk out; or change your order to something with bacon on it. You can't screw up anything that has bacon on it.
Third, and this one's important -- as soon as the wings arrive at your table, the vinegar in the hot sauce should have the same effect on your sinuses as a good shot of smelling salts. And you won't have to breathe deep, 'cuz the fumes from those little beauties should charge up yer nose like an crazed yak in heat. It's a sensation you never get used to. So if you don't experience the "Whoa!" effect, THE WINGS AREN'T HOT ENOUGH. And folks, don't mess around with Bar-B-Que sauces and Lemon-Pepper sauces and Chinese-Fortune-Telling sauces -- remember, you're there to experience the whole spicy-buffalo-wing-gestalt!
Now, I've traveled all across this country and burned my mouth off at a hellova lot of the scummiest, rowdiest juke-joints (and they do tend to make your better wings). I've gone on holy pilgrimage to the original birthplace of the almighty wing, the Anchor Bar in Buffalo, NY (big plump wings, but otherwise, they were nothing to write home about). I've frequented tiny sports bars in backwater towns like Waldo, Ohio (GREAT fried baloney sandwiches, but pretty so-so wings). I've tried the wings at those trendy, yuppie joints with cutesy-ass abbreviated names (and they all SUCKED), and under extreme duress, I've even been known to take my chances on the wings at Mexican restaurants and in Irish pubs (FYI: so far, the Mexicans have fared better than the Irishmen. But then again, the Mexicans were the ones who served carrots...).
There was a punk-rock bar called the Euclid Tavern in Cleveland, OH. that will forever hold a clotted place in my arteries. When I was in college, you used to be able to get 10-cent wings every Tuesday night. And if they ran out of pitchers for beer, they'd serve it up in old apple juice bottles. This was a classy joint. Their wings weren't always consistent -- but when they were good, it was a religious experience. And when they were bad... they were still pretty dang good! They only had three kinds of wings: "mild", "hot", and "suicidal". For newcomers, I'd always strongly recommend "hot"... I knew they'd thank me the next morning. But alas, back taxes and a suspended liquor license have closed "the Euc" indefinitely...
So the reigning kingdom of wingdom is a little patch of heaven-on-earth called Yakzie's (pronounced by the locals as "YAH-seez") -- across from Wrigley Field in Chicago, IL. This place makes a hot wing any self-respecting (though limbless) chickens would be proud to call their own. And if you're looking for how hot to get 'em, I recommend ordering them "Oh My Gosh - Wet" ("wet" means extra sauce).
(If this all seems a bit odd, you should hear me go on about Kung Pao Chicken and BBQ-Pulled-Pork sandwiches...)
(1/26/02)
Where can one get good Buffalo wings?
Some of you might not take this question seriously, but I mean to tell you that when it comes to hot wings, I'm all business. For the unenlightened (and some bar-owners I've run into over the years), let me start with a few quick identifying characteristics for an acceptable chicken wing:
First of all, a wing should be extremely well cooked and crispy on the outside, without an excessive amount of fatty skin hanging off. And aside from a generous slathering of hot sauce, they should be very, very nude. They simply cannot be dipped in batter. If you get a wing that has been dipped in batter, the establishment is definitely trying to cover something up. And Lord knows -- IT MIGHT NOT BE CHICKEN.
Second, your wings should be served with celery and bleu cheese sauce. Now, I've never been a huge celery fan. And with any other dish, I hate bleu cheese. But the short-order chefs of the world shouldn't start substituting stuff in hopes of some kinda gourmet renaissance via common bar food -- tradition is tradition. And in this modern age of cellular telephones and the Playstation 2, if we haven't found anything better to accompany hot wings and a cold beer, it probably ain't gonna happen. The worst setup I ever encountered was a side order of ranch dressing and carrots -- do I need to tell you how the wings were?!? Also, points deducted if you have to ASK for celery and bleu cheese on the side, and extra points for big-ole chunks of bleu cheese in the sauce. And if they say they don't serve celery and bleu cheese, that's a very bad sign. My advice is to get up and walk out; or change your order to something with bacon on it. You can't screw up anything that has bacon on it.
Third, and this one's important -- as soon as the wings arrive at your table, the vinegar in the hot sauce should have the same effect on your sinuses as a good shot of smelling salts. And you won't have to breathe deep, 'cuz the fumes from those little beauties should charge up yer nose like an crazed yak in heat. It's a sensation you never get used to. So if you don't experience the "Whoa!" effect, THE WINGS AREN'T HOT ENOUGH. And folks, don't mess around with Bar-B-Que sauces and Lemon-Pepper sauces and Chinese-Fortune-Telling sauces -- remember, you're there to experience the whole spicy-buffalo-wing-gestalt!
Now, I've traveled all across this country and burned my mouth off at a hellova lot of the scummiest, rowdiest juke-joints (and they do tend to make your better wings). I've gone on holy pilgrimage to the original birthplace of the almighty wing, the Anchor Bar in Buffalo, NY (big plump wings, but otherwise, they were nothing to write home about). I've frequented tiny sports bars in backwater towns like Waldo, Ohio (GREAT fried baloney sandwiches, but pretty so-so wings). I've tried the wings at those trendy, yuppie joints with cutesy-ass abbreviated names (and they all SUCKED), and under extreme duress, I've even been known to take my chances on the wings at Mexican restaurants and in Irish pubs (FYI: so far, the Mexicans have fared better than the Irishmen. But then again, the Mexicans were the ones who served carrots...).
There was a punk-rock bar called the Euclid Tavern in Cleveland, OH. that will forever hold a clotted place in my arteries. When I was in college, you used to be able to get 10-cent wings every Tuesday night. And if they ran out of pitchers for beer, they'd serve it up in old apple juice bottles. This was a classy joint. Their wings weren't always consistent -- but when they were good, it was a religious experience. And when they were bad... they were still pretty dang good! They only had three kinds of wings: "mild", "hot", and "suicidal". For newcomers, I'd always strongly recommend "hot"... I knew they'd thank me the next morning. But alas, back taxes and a suspended liquor license have closed "the Euc" indefinitely...
So the reigning kingdom of wingdom is a little patch of heaven-on-earth called Yakzie's (pronounced by the locals as "YAH-seez") -- across from Wrigley Field in Chicago, IL. This place makes a hot wing any self-respecting (though limbless) chickens would be proud to call their own. And if you're looking for how hot to get 'em, I recommend ordering them "Oh My Gosh - Wet" ("wet" means extra sauce).
(If this all seems a bit odd, you should hear me go on about Kung Pao Chicken and BBQ-Pulled-Pork sandwiches...)
(1/26/02)
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