Preparation:
Many people have asked me for my recipe for hot wings. I don't know why -- I can't cook. But I guess being from Buffalo means carrying an albatross or two, so here it is:
HOW THIS BUFFALOON ENJOYS HOMEMADE WINGS:
Start with some chickens, preferably dead ones. If they have feathers, remove them (the feathers, not the chickens). If they don't, you're already two steps ahead of the game.
Meanwhile, heat up some oil in a pot large enough to hold the oil and some chicken parts. (Crisco, Mazola and Peanut work okay; Kendall, Valvoline and Quaker State don't.)
Now, go back to where your dead, featherless chickens are and cut or pull the wings off. Keep the wings and throw out the rest of the chickens. You won't need them (the chickens, not the wings -- you will need the wings). Cut each wing into three sections: the "Tip", the "Drumstick" and the "Flat Thing". You can throw out the wing tips (the chicken, not the shoes) because they aren't much good for anything. Only non-Buffaloons eat 'em.
(On second thought, you can throw out the shoes, too -- or give them to Goodwill. Unless you happen to be extremely conservative, in which case you wouldn't consider eating wings in the first place, so why are you reading this?!)
Wipe your hands on your pants. Go into the bedroom and strip all the bedding off the bed except the sheet with the elastic stuff that holds it tightly to the mattress. Toss the rest of the bedding on the floor in the corner. Turn on the radio and/or TV and tune it to your favorite program. Adjust the volume to a comfortable listening level.
Go back into the kitchen (or wherever you prepare your food). The oil should now be heated to around 350F (Although I'm guessing ... my thermometer only goes up to 106). Stand about five feet away from the pot and toss the Drumsticks and Flat Things, one at a time, into the pot. The pot should come alive with the bubbling, boiling, hissing, and screaming of raw, moist, cold poultry parts being plunged into an environment in which their temperature is raised instantly by hundreds of degrees. If this doesn't happen, you probably turned on the wrong burner and your wife's favorite, very expensive, decorative, empty teapot is now irreparably scorched.
Now, get another pot (a smaller one than the one with the oil in it). Remove your wife's scorched teapot from the stove and throw it out (the teapot, not the stove). Put the empty pot (the one without the oil in it) on the burner. Put some butter on it (the pot, not the burner). Melt the butter. Put in Frank's Louisiana Red Hot or Tabasco to make the sauce mild, medium or hot. To make it Nuclear/Jeezuz-Kee-Riced, put in some Wild Bill Hickory's Habanero Hot Sauce With A Half-Life (Caution: Not for the weak of heart or stomach!)
By now or after five minutes, whichever is first or second, the wings in the pot with the oil should be golden brown, which we all know is non-sequitur because gold is not brown. They are, in fact, two different colors.
Take the pot (the one with the oil and the wings, not the butter) into the back yard and dump its contents on the lawn. (Unless you can figure out how to get the wings out of the boiling oil without burning yourself and slopping oil all over the kitchen, thereby raising the Wrath of Wife -- again.) Pick up the wings and wipe off the grass clippings. Leave the pot outside to cool. Carry the wings back into the kitchen (or wherever you prepare your food.) Wipe your hands on your pants.
Get a Cool Whip container. The large size works best. If it still has Cool Whip in it, scoop out the Cool Whip and throw it away (the Cool Whip, not the container). Wipe the container clean with your hand, and wipe your hand on your pants.
Put the butter sauce and the wings into the Cool Whip container and close the lid tightly. Dance around with the container, pretending you're Michael Jackson (but don't grab your crotch -- you need both hands to hold the lid closed), until the wings are completely covered with the sauce.
Get some celery sticks, a roll of paper towels, a jar of Marie's Bleu (sic) Cheese Dressing, a dinner plate (which, if you're like me, is probably used for other meals as wel |
