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captainsblog...is chicken-wing shaped!
You can't get away from it. As I started heading away from my adopted home town the other day, what does an NPR station, somewhere Fingerlakes-ish, serenade me with but this All Things Considered piece about, what else?, the Anchor Bar- Buffalo's beloved home of the chicken wing.
It must've put something in my head- I haven't had wings in months, and those, likely, were the much sweeter Rochester version from a place called Country Sweet which, sadly, is now on the verge of going down the deep fryer- but when I got to the Not The Anchor Bar in Glens Falls the other night with the reader/writers I'd spent the evening with, I figured I had better eat something before risking even a single-wineglass trip down an unfamiliar freeway. And there they were on the menu. Delicate. Spicy. Chickenwingy. I ordered for that end of the table.
Sorry, they said. Kitchen just closed.
Oh well. For a quick reasonable facsimile of Frank and Theresa's recipe, Wendy's makes a halfway decent boneless version. You just have to order a side salad with bleu cheese dressing for it to replicate the full Belissimo experience. Problem was, exit after exit had those blueish signs featuring the chains for lodging-food-gas (preferably at different places), and not a Wendy house on a one of them. When I came to my exit (the one which, as noted earlier, totally disappeared my hotel from sight), the blueish signs also disappeared, and I abandoned all hope of getting my wing fix on in the wee hours. Probably a good thing, given the propensity for spices to cause me even more wee hours.
Lunch was, essentially, breakfast today, so I resumed my re-enactment of Bang The Drumette Slowly only a couple of hours ago, after finally confirming that I would not be dining with nieces tonight. (My older niece, and her kids, got in very late, and Nicole's husband. a CSP detective, has been working three days straight, so they're pretty worn out over there.) After tracking down a part for our biweekly fishtank cleaning, I saw the elusive W on the other side of the road, and before I could even get to the side salad and dressing issues, the squawk box dashed my hopes yet again:
A double cheeseburger onion rings and a large orange drink We're out of Buffalo, sir.
Well fuck. So am I.
Fortunately, finally, I came across a neighborhood pizza joint that was back in the same strip of shopping plazas as the fishyfish place I started out at. Decent sauce, decent price, no celery but just the right amount of bleu cheese.
I think now I'm ready for the Bridge of Death- long as I can remember what my favourite colour is;
You can't get away from it. As I started heading away from my adopted home town the other day, what does an NPR station, somewhere Fingerlakes-ish, serenade me with but this All Things Considered piece about, what else?, the Anchor Bar- Buffalo's beloved home of the chicken wing.
It must've put something in my head- I haven't had wings in months, and those, likely, were the much sweeter Rochester version from a place called Country Sweet which, sadly, is now on the verge of going down the deep fryer- but when I got to the Not The Anchor Bar in Glens Falls the other night with the reader/writers I'd spent the evening with, I figured I had better eat something before risking even a single-wineglass trip down an unfamiliar freeway. And there they were on the menu. Delicate. Spicy. Chickenwingy. I ordered for that end of the table.
Sorry, they said. Kitchen just closed.
Oh well. For a quick reasonable facsimile of Frank and Theresa's recipe, Wendy's makes a halfway decent boneless version. You just have to order a side salad with bleu cheese dressing for it to replicate the full Belissimo experience. Problem was, exit after exit had those blueish signs featuring the chains for lodging-food-gas (preferably at different places), and not a Wendy house on a one of them. When I came to my exit (the one which, as noted earlier, totally disappeared my hotel from sight), the blueish signs also disappeared, and I abandoned all hope of getting my wing fix on in the wee hours. Probably a good thing, given the propensity for spices to cause me even more wee hours.
Lunch was, essentially, breakfast today, so I resumed my re-enactment of Bang The Drumette Slowly only a couple of hours ago, after finally confirming that I would not be dining with nieces tonight. (My older niece, and her kids, got in very late, and Nicole's husband. a CSP detective, has been working three days straight, so they're pretty worn out over there.) After tracking down a part for our biweekly fishtank cleaning, I saw the elusive W on the other side of the road, and before I could even get to the side salad and dressing issues, the squawk box dashed my hopes yet again:
Well fuck. So am I.
Fortunately, finally, I came across a neighborhood pizza joint that was back in the same strip of shopping plazas as the fishyfish place I started out at. Decent sauce, decent price, no celery but just the right amount of bleu cheese.
I think now I'm ready for the Bridge of Death- long as I can remember what my favourite colour is;
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Date: 2010-03-28 01:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-28 01:18 am (UTC)