Buffalo Bred

The question you ask any ex-pat that you are visiting is if you can bring them anything from the area. The answer usually involves some form of food not available elsewhere, and having lived in Florida and Chicago, I completely understand. Local heat-seeking denizens nod knowingly when newbies add fifteen pounds to their girths upon getting off the Mayflower and settling in to good Buffalo chow. We are good eats, here.

Not that Florida or Chi-town lack in their own flavor; in Florida the shrimp used for bait were bigger than what you find in the seafood case of this northern town. Chicago has the famous fran-cheesie, Greek, Jewish, and tavern food, all revered in solemn hallelujiahs. But try to get a decent red-hot, pizza, or batch of wings elsewhere and you are sore out of luck, brothers and sisters. This is what my Scott in Boston Mass has asked for, a plate of wings from Duff's.

With my son coming into town, I know we will hit Duff's, I only wonder if they would last two days later through a roadtrip. I'll ask, maybe freezing wouldn't kill them, but the succulent juiciness under the crisp exterior would be missing when reheated.

In another life, I worked many kitchen jobs. Wings are so easy to make, I could do it on one leg blindfolded while singing "Inagattadavida". I don't understand how they taste so different from one locale to the next, but there are some messed up chicken wings being touted as original that the cat wouldn't touch.

Frank's Hot Sauce. Butter. The End. Fry the bejeezus out of the wing and toss 'em in said concoction. Crack open a cold one.

Tuesday's are green till midnight, when they click into the warm pinks of Wednesday. The amaryllis blossomed in school, lifting our spirits as though we took part in this minor success. An ice storm is supposed to hit, but it is already past rush hour and not even a crystal has slickered the sidewalks into treachery. I am going to light a candle, in hopes of a snow day. So much to do at home.

Sleep cozy, the shortest daylight of the year, the winter solstice, is within the week. Ah, old bear.