Wings are a weakness of mine. As a child, my family use to frequent Wings n’ Rings in Tallahassee. Curly fries, hot wings, and a Shirley Temple were better than pizza in my book. Greasy and hot, they were accompanied by slightly desiccated carrot and celery sticks that were perfect for dipping in chunky blue cheese. Paper towel rolls were conveniently located on every table along with packets of wet wipes (a slightly more humble version of the hot towel presented in many a fine dining restaurant). The nature of the place was such that once dinner was over, my brothers and I would amuse ourselves by how far we could skid in our shoes over the greasy floor while my parents finished their pitcher of beer, chilled down nicely by a plastic bag filled with ice.
