Welcome to the Savage Connoisseur! Here you'll find short stories and inspired recipes about my misadventures in cooking, travel, love, and city life. Thank you for visiting, and here's a toast to living savagely!

Ain't No Thing But a Chicken Wing

Ain't No Thing But a Chicken Wing

It was a Sunday in October – early evening. She was leaving yet another rejection, err, audition, and decided to walk the twenty blocks down and eight blocks east home. The waning light and mild temperature were something to appreciate before they gave way to dark and blistery months ahead. Plus, it was Sunday and public transportation timetables were anyone’s guess. Her pocket buzzed.

-Come watch football. Finnerty’s. We have a keg and table in back! Bring food please

-K, Phone about to die. Don’t leave!

She looked up and found herself in Madison Square Eats, perusing the stalls of hipster foodie outposts for something good and easy for a large group. Ah! Spicy chicken wings! 30 pieces, 40bucks! Damn hipsters and their delicious food. But she was feeling flush, so she ordered. They took their time. Deep fry; Sauce; Deep fry again. So wet, and so juicy.

She walked down 2nd avenue and approached 14th street. Finnerty’s glowing and abuzz. The people flitting about beer soaked wood floors, like veritable barflies. She shifted the small tower of plastic tupperware steaming with hot wings to one hand, as she fished out her ID to show the bouncer.

-Sorry miss, we are at capacity.

-Oh, my friends have a keg and a table in the back. I brought them these chicken wings! (smiles coyly)

-In that case, just call someone to come out and get you.

-Ah! My phone died. Can I go find someone to vouch for me and come right back?

-Sorry miss, we are at capacity. 

-Can I leave you my phone and ID, and grab someone real quick?

-We are capacity.

-But my phone merely died. If it were working, you said I could just call them.

-There’s a charging station at the bar next door.

She inhaled deeply and went next door without protest. There was a charging station with everything but an iphone5 charger. #FirstWorldProblems. She returned to Finnerty’s defeated.

-Look man, I don’t even want to stay at this establishment anymore. But I have $40 worth of chicken wings that I would really like to just drop off for my friends and then I will leave. Please? Three people just walked out of the bar, couldn’t you just let me drop these off?

-Please step away from the door miss, you are blocking the entrance.

Her blood rose to her face, and she felt the tears start to stream down her face. She always cried when she was angry, it was horribly humiliating. She bit her lip, and quickly turned away, hearing smirks from the patrons behind her. The tupperware in her hand began to shake. An impulse from deep within, or perhaps way above took control. Maybe Karma herself had come to enact her duty, but suddenly she was prying open the steaming lid. Her right hand dug deep in to the sticky contents.

"And Peyton goes long!" The crowd roared from inside.

SPLAT!!! Wet, gooey, chicken wings hit the bar door and began their molasses descent to the concrete. The bouncer managed to duck just in time. She had completely missed him. He rose and glared menacingly at her, as she threw one more. Spicy chili and sticky, caramelized chicken fat splattered him squarely on the jaw.

-Oh shit, did you see that? Fucking crazy bitch just threw some chicken wings at that bouncer!

She was that girl, having that moment on 2nd avenue. Tears running down her face, chucking chicken wings at some asshole who had slammed one too many doors in her face.

And then, she ran! Assault by spicy poultry was at least a misdemeanor offense! When she made it to the sanctuary of her block, she licked her hands and devoured the rest of the wings, tossing the bones on the street with reckless abandon. ‘Cause, in the end, it ain’t no thing but a chicken wing.

Find the recipe inspired by this tale HERE

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