Where do you get your Chicken Wings?

In New York, there is often a discussion as to what makes someone a real New Yorker. Some people use the measurement of time. They've lived in New York for X number of years, they only go out on weeknights, and their bartender attended or will attend their wedding. The first-name basis with your pizza guy and the ability to not pay until later at the local bodega when you forget your wallet could be a decent measure of New Yorker status as well. I won't dismiss those points, they could be an accurate measure to some, but they are not mine. Mine is where you think the best chicken wings are and Dallas BBQ is the answer.

It might be a chain, something people can be quick to dismiss in a local eatery but as far as I am concerned there are not enough of them. When you walk into Dallas BBQ there is a pink glow from the neon lights that just makes everything a little better, a clever play on rose-colored glasses. As you wait to be seated you are greeted in a friendly fashion, escaping the bustle of the East Village's St. Marks street to a familiar homey busy. Regular chairs in red vinyl or booths stand clean and ordinary ready to hold you, like a good friend.

When you are seated your menu is waiting for you in the form of a paper placemat, colorful and concise. The large frozen margaritas are nearly impossible to miss or to skip beckon in flavors with red, orange, and blue colors, and yes, duh, you want the extra shot. They hold up. They taste as good as they look, but please slow down, even with caution brain freeze is likely. Also, pro-tip, you only need one. Or as I once discussed with a cool couple pregaming for clubbing, the margarita here is New York's best-kept secret in terms of price and power. No one ever bats an eye when I go in there to drink one alone, reading. This solo dining is neither an act of pretension nor particularly interesting, simply a place to have a drink.

The menu offers a variety of gems. The ribs are often a favorite of people I bring here when I am sick of my own inner monologue. The shrimp and catfish look beyond but I have never had any of those things. My heart begins and ends at the bone-in fried chicken wings. Breaded and fit for giants they arrive sticky and warm. Each wing large enough to eat as a drumstick served with your choice of blue cheese or ranch dressing and plenty of wet naps, that you will need. The tender meat so juicy and tasty you almost forget that you look like a hungry scavenger, breaking apart the skin and bone for delicacies many will never think to try. There are no dry bites here. No overdone dullness. No terrible sauce masking as buffalo or too small sides of dipping goodness, Dallas BBQ lets you be a glutton in the best way, without having to ask. And when you are finished you are sad the wings are gone, already searching through the files of your mind for your next reason to stop by, company always optional.

And just when I think I have a place to keep to myself, Cardi B posts about Dallas BBQ, born and raised New York Banker-types confess to their love of the Dallas wings and even new chef friends coo about them. Confirming of course that these wings are memorable and undeniable. Making me feel like I knew what I was doing all along.