Tales of a Chicken Wing Childhood

No matter what you have previously been told, children from Buffalo, New York, are not born in the typical, sprouted-from-the-mother’s-womb fashion. They actually are spawned directly from the chicken wing. That’s right. We make our babies extra-spicy and coat them generously in blue cheese.

Ok, I might be exaggerating a little bit. Who can fault me for that? I just think that if you understand the importance of the wing, you will understand the true nature of a Buffalonian. We can all be explained through a few simple chicken wing rules:

Rule #1: If you call it a Buffalo chicken wing, it’s not a Buffalo chicken wing. It may say “Buffalo Chicken Wings” on the menu, but that is just a trap to identify foreigners. True wing-eaters know that it’s just “a wing.” There is no other kind; you do not need to specify that it is either from a Buffalo or, in fact, the wing of a chicken. This is innately understood.

Rule #2: Wings are a simple food. They generally come in four categories: mild, medium, hot, and can’t-feel-your-face-for-a-week. Wings are not supposed to come in strange varieties like spicy honey barbeque and citrus garlic. They are made of chicken, butter, and hot sauce. That’s it. Frank has been making them that way at the Anchor Bar (according to the hot sauce bottle) since 1920. You don’t mess with a legend.

Rule #3: Wings are appropriate for all occasions and times of the day. The wing meets the requirement of each food group in the pyramid. It is made of chicken (protein), hot pepper sauce (fruit), and served with blue cheese (dairy) and celery (vegetable). Add a beer (grain) and you now have a balanced meal. Buffalonians have been known to consume wings at picnics, football games, baptisms, church gatherings, work functions, weddings, etc.; my family even has them for dessert after the Thanksgiving meal has settled.

Rule #4 (the most important rule): Spice matters. We raise our children to be tough. Everyone knows that mild wings are for teething infants and retired nuns. If you are not eating hot wings by the time you reach the second grade, you will get beat up at school and at every cartooned-themed, roller-rink birthday party until you have toughened up and joined the ranks.

My point in all of this is that a Buffalonian prides himself on being a Buffalonian. We’re blunt. We’re simple. We’re hot tempered. And we have a tendency to exaggerate our stories, or at least choose details that enhance our experiences. For instance, I may talk about the five foot drifts of snow at the bottom of my driveway, but leave out the fact that the low sections of snow only come to mid-shin. And while I pride myself on my sarcasm, I know that sometimes I use it to cover up some more serious emotions that lay below the surface. I will not apologize for this. It is the Buffalo way.