I Heart Wings

When I was a kid, a heaping plate of chicken wings was one of my all-time favorite dinners, and I’ve been eating way too many recently. For a while Stefan and I were on a ridiculous monthly wing-kick, and recently Geoff and I have accidentally fallen into this strange ritual of splitting a plate of buffalo wings before every BOOM show.

But it was this Sunday night, while gorging ourselves on a plate of atomic wings, that my roommate and I suddenly realized what makes a good buffalo wing so very, very special:

Every time you eat a bird’s wings, you’re devouring a creature’s unique source of grace and beauty. Basically, it’s the poetic equivalent of eating a dancer’s feet. Or a singer’s larynx. And that, my friends, must be why they’re so goddamn tasty.

I looked, but I couldn’t find a good larynx recipe anywhere.