Barenaked wing eating

By the way… the Barenaked Ladies/Guster concert was excellent, as expected. It’s not replacing any of my top five, but it was good nonetheless. Big props to Tyler’s Rick Jeanneret-influenced version of Feliz Navidad. Yes, you did have to be there.

You didn’t need to have been there to get Steven Page’s recap on the highlight of their trip to Buffalo, though – the wings.

Fin and I are in the production office in Hartford reminiscing about the wings we ate in Buffalo last night. I mean, I like a good chicken wing as much as the next guy, and everyone talks up the wings in Buffalo. But, seriously, we’ve had their wings before, and they’re good and all, even from the Anchor Bar, where the damn things were invented (Well, okay, not invented, I guess that God or whoever invented chickens did that, but you know what I mean), and last night’s were just outstanding. Truly, truly outstanding, crispy, flavourful, not greasy, and meaty. Sometimes when there are wings on the bus, you walk on, and it just smells like death, which, I guess it should, but dirty, Tyson’s slaughterhouse-style, where last night was more like soft, beautiful, Baudelarian death.
Damn, I’m hungry.