I grew up on the upper west side of Buffalo New York just blocks away from several amazing wing joints including the famous Anchor Bar and La Nova’s Restaurant. Some of my earliest memories are of participating in a popular Western New York family tradition. That tradition is called takeout or takeout delivery. It went something like this. Any given night at around 6 pm, my parents, tired and not wanting to cook, would have a quiet and quick conversation about what should be for dinner. One of them would grab a menu off the fridge, pick up the phone and dial the powder blue corded wall-mounted kitchen phone. My sister and I, hopeful that what we thought was happening was actually happening, would watch carefully waiting for the confirming words, “yeah, I would like to make on order for delivery…” Now, having a confirmation, we would make noise and do a celebratory dance before heading to the front window to wait for the coolest person in the world, the delivery person. The 20-minute wait seemed like hours but when the food arrived and payment and tip had exchange hands, it took seconds for the prize to make its way to the already cleared kitchen table. At this point, ready with my paper plate, I would carefully select my meal. The order rarely changed. It would include a large Pizza (all pepperoni and half mushroom), a bucket of wings (half Hot and half BBQ), a two-liter bottle of pop (called soda most places), Several small clear plastic containers of blue cheese dressing, soggy carrots and celery wrapped in foil would be in with the wings. I would examine the pizza and grab the best slice which wasn’t necessarily the biggest, more important was the pepperoni ratio and no mushrooms at all. For the wings, my selection would include both BBQ and Hot, Flats, and drums but there was more to the selection process. each wing has a bit of crispy skin the sticks off the side and my wing selection would be based mostly on my site assessment of both the overall size of the wing and that little crispy piece of skin. With my carefully assembled plate now ready, I would move to the couch and watched McGiver or Knight Rider or Saturday night live depending on the day and time. Five minutes later I would be stuffed and regretting the last wing that put me over the edge of comfort. I continued living in Buffalo until I graduated from college and always took for granted that good wings were always available at any time, any place. I later learned that, sadly, not everyone had these early Buffalo experiences.
I eventually left buffalo for an internship and later full-time employment in California and quickly came to realize that not all “Buffalo Wings” are good buffalo wings. I would sample wings at every restaurant that offered them and was consistently disappointed with the baked, undercooked, overcooked, dry, greasy, lemon herb sauce served with ranch… I still ate them. My friends thought I was crazy and didn’t understand what I was talking about when I lectured them about the many virtues of true Buffalo style, Buffalo Wings. Eventually, I decided that I needed to show them that I was both crazy and right about buffalo wings. It took some time but I eventually figured out how to make them (nearly) as good as I remembered them being. Soon the word got out that I made some legit buffalo wings and Wing parties became a common occurrence at my house. The gatherings were memorable social gatherings and everyone had a great time. Later, when I was visiting Buffalo, my grandmother was making a cookbook and asked me to help with the Buffalo wing section. I realized that one page wasn’t enough to fit all the detail required to create truly wonderful Buffalo wings. Later that night I started writing it all down and ten years later I’m still working on it but I’m almost done… I think.
