Some people obsess about what they wear, some people obsess about the newest gadgets, and some people obsess about the latest celebrity gossip. Me … I obsess about food (and a few other things mind you). Under that all encompassing umbrella of thought, certain types of food have the potential to goad my inner child into something most people call “a craving.” One of those is the Buffalo wing, perhaps the single best culinary concoction this country has given the world.
While hot dogs, hamburgers, and apple pie may get all the credit, those fakers aren’t really “American.” After all, they were invented somewhere else. But the Buffalo wing – that’s all us baby! So I make it my business to pound a few dozen of these genetically modified suckers on a monthly basis (yeah … I’ve long since realized that Buffalo wings come from chickens who probably don’t live a happy life). While my doctor may not approve of this frequent assault on my body, and my conscious if often ignored, a chicken wing diet is something I speak quite highly off.
Enter Wing Factory, a longstanding Buckhead sports bar meets kids coral. It’s a beat up business with with plenty of TVs that serves up the very definition of bar food, and for what it is … I dig it. Sure, its often overrun with several dozen pre-pubescent bastards all hopped up on sugar packets and Kool-Aid, and the food is anything but gourmet, but Wing Factory offers me enough illicit delight that I’ll weather the ruckus every few months for some wings and poppers.