Wing Fail

The Australian Pub in Pacific Beach is famous for their hot wings. On Wednesdays, they are half price and the local carnivores descend like seagulls. It's cleverly named Wing Wednesday. We had to coordinate work schedules, triangulate parking strategies and stake out tables just to get a seat. The wings were practically drumsticks slathered in spicy sauces that were impossible to eat without getting it all over your face. They were the kind of wings that will rearrange the day's eating schedule so that you're sure you'll have enough room to eat until you get sick.

A few months ago we noticed they were getting smaller, arriving colder and weren't as good. We gave them the benefit of the doubt and chalked it up to a bad night in the kitchen. The next 4 attempts were progressively disappointing and eventually we stopped going altogether. Theories of mismanagement and ownership transfer were carelessly thrown around, but ultimately, the wings just sucked. It had been a month or so since we had gone, and last night we decided the cold war was over and we were going to give our previously beloved wings another day in court.

When they arrived at our table, I half expected Ashton Kutcher to pop out of the napkin holder and tell me we were punked. They looked like discarded bones from a previous Wednesday that were dipped in sauce, nuked for 8 seconds and re-served. I don't know what kind of anorexic chicken could produce these things, but i'm inclined to contact PETA and request an investigation. The only way anything could get that famished is by eating these wings. The wicked circle of malnutrition.

So the Aussie Pub is officially fired. Regrettably, we are accepting applications for a new wing place. Until then, Taco Tuesday is in charge.