Six years ago I kicked cigarettes cold turkey
I haven't had a drink in nearly a decade, and I've never looked back.
Chicken wings though, that's a tough one.
There's something about gnawing the saucy deep-fried goodness off the tiny little bones that scratches an itch in my reptile brain. I'm not proud of it, but that's the way it is. So when the urge strikes I need to take care of it or else.
When I lived a bit further west, I had some reliable sources for wings. I knew where I could get them at a decent price, bring them home, and go captain caveman on the steaming pile of bbq bird parts. Since moving to Lakewood, I have been searching for a replacement, which had eluded me until I had the good sense to call the Screaming Rooster and place an order.
The wings were largish, meaty and cooked perfectly. The bbq sauce was excellent. At $13 for two dozen, the price was right too. I have found my go to place for wings in Lakewood, and that makes me and my reptile brain happy.