by Kathleen Squires
Every Super Bowl Sunday, buffalo chickens across the country sacrifice their wings. And since Sunday also happens to be the High Holy Holiday of Advertising, I would like to take this minute to endorse the ones at Bayard's Ale House. I had given up on eating wings after too many soggy, sloppy experiences. But these flappers won me back for their tang, meatiness and exceedingly crisp skin. The secret is that the kitchen uses only fresh, never frozen bird. And while it's true that those poor buffalo chickens will remain limbless, if the Giants pull a miracle victory, several angels will have earned a pair of their own.
For more finger-lickin'-good recommendations, check out Citysearch's guide to NYC's best chicken wings.