Category: Wings
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Cambridge, Round Two: Still No Idea Where
Nine months after the Harvard Square incident, I was back in Cambridge, apparently unable to learn from my own poor documentation habits. This time: a white plate, a respectable pile of wings, and a blue ramekin of ranch that suggests at least a mid-tier establishment. Still no restaurant name anywhere in frame. I was clearly…
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A Perfectly Unremarkable Tuesday
No occasion, no experiment, no new sauce — just a plain white plate of wings on what the timestamp insists was a Tuesday in April 2017. Some of the best home cooking happens exactly like this: not for anyone, not for content, just because it was Tuesday and wings sounded right. Recipe inspiration: Inspired Taste’s…
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Wings at the Desk: A Working Lunch, Sort Of
There’s a keyboard in this photo, which tells you everything about the state of my work-life balance in March 2017. Somewhere between emails, I apparently decided the responsible move was a plate of home-cooked wings eaten at my desk, mid-afternoon, no plans to stop working. Efficient, if not exactly ergonomic. I’d like to say I’ve…
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Back Bay Basket Wings: A Sports Bar Blur
January in Back Bay, wings and fries served in a basket lined with the classic red-and-white checkered paper, at a table with some kind of nautical eagle motif going on. This has “sports bar within walking distance of Copley Square” written all over it, right down to the presentation, but not one shred of a…
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The One That Started It All (Probably)
Every obsession has an origin story, and as far as this archive goes, this might be it — a blue plate, a Belmont kitchen, October 2016. No fanfare, no dry rub philosophy yet, just a home cook figuring out that oven-baked wings could be genuinely good if you stopped babying them and cranked the heat.…
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Waltham Takeout, Mystery Box Edition
A cardboard container, some wax paper, and wings that clearly traveled some distance before I photographed them — that’s Waltham, September 2016. No box branding, no receipt, nothing. Just the aftermath. I want to say this was a good decision at the time. The wings look reasonably glazed and the celery made it into the…
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A Nameless Harvard Square Wing Stop (RIP, My Memory)
Somewhere within stumbling distance of Harvard Square, in the summer of 2016, I ate a plate of wings so unremarkable in a place so unidentifiable that a decade later I genuinely cannot tell you where this was. There’s a beer. There’s a blue-rimmed plate. There’s celery doing its usual thankless job. That’s the entire crime…