Wings Addiction

I’m sitting in the café car on the Amtrak back to NYC. The fella next to me is eating a package of the Buffalo chicken wings, which were nuked in the microwave and are unsurprisingly gross. The skin is flabby and slimy. It’s probably Perdue chicken. I know this because I am a former wing addict. I was born upstate and Buffalo wings were a part of my childhood. My mom actually makes really great wings. She roasts them in the oven with some Lawry’s seasoned salt then dips them in a mixture of margarine and hot sauce then back in the oven to bake in the flavor. Now, I know a thing or two about the delicacy, and the wing addiction was seriously unhealthy in many ways so I will share the therapy that worked for me.

Go to Croxley Ales Bar on B and 3rd for 10 cent wing night and OD. Croxley’s is a fratty but goth themed bar near Mama’s (this reminds me of my fried chicken fixation) and while it seems like you will only need a buck to fill up, there are stipulations. You must by a beer and you have to buy a plate with a multiple of 20. I ate 15 of their wings and I haven’t had a craving since. Not because I got sick of them, but because they are really good. They are fried without batter which I like, so the skin is crispy and the sauce is spicy and vinegary. However, blue cheese and celery is additional, so you generally have to pay more than ten bucks for the fix.