Anchor Bar wings neither foul nor fair

I can­not turn down an oppor­tu­nity to sleuth the ori­gin of a famous food.

Such sleuthing has taken me to for­eign lands — Bakewell Tart in the U.K.‘s Peak Dis­trict, pud­din’ ‘n’ souse on the windy side of Bar­ba­dos and the Wal­dorf Salad at Manhattan’s hotel by the same name being three exam­ples. On home turf, I’ve cruised the high­ways and byways in my search for the best but­ter tart. And, most recently, I shuf­fled off to Buf­falo for chicken wings at the Anchor Bar where this hugely pop­u­lar bar snack, says the lore, originated.

First, a bit of his­tory. The Anchor Bar wings were born, as with many culi­nary coups (Cae­sar Salad leaps to mind) when a cook was forced to improvise.

It was a reg­u­lar Fri­day night in 1964 when the son of own­ers Frank and Ter­essa Bel­lis­simo arrived late at the busy down­town pub with a group of friends. In fact, it was after hours when the hun­gry lads requested food. Neces­sity being the mother of inven­tion, mama Ter­essa grabbed some chicken wings usu­ally used for stock, deep-fried them and then doused them in hot sauce. Voila, the birth of the Anchor Wings and a dish that now graces the menu of many a bar and restau­rant around the world.

This cer­tainly is a big, impres­sive spot with a huge park­ing lot embla­zoned with sig­nage tout­ing the fame of its pop­u­lar poul­try part. Arriv­ing here after a smooth cross­ing into the U.S. via the Peace Bridge, Ross and I tried to take in the Anchor Bar’s  lively, kitsch and clut­tered wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling decor. Motor bikes have been hoisted on to sev­eral walls (a cur­rent co-owner with the Bel­lis­simo fam­ily is a fan), there are stat­ues of Ther­essa bear­ing wings, license plates from near and far-flung places and signed pho­tos of celebri­ties who’ve been here includ­ing Frank Sina­tra and the Everly Brothers.

On a hol­i­day Mon­day, the place was close to full. A large din­ing room was packed with fam­i­lies. The large, pol­ished wooden bar would have been a great place to sit if not for the lack of space to put your legs.

Nat­u­rally, the menu fea­tures wings — in vary­ing por­tion sizes and degrees of heat. We chose medium and they soon arrived with their flavour­less blue-cheese dip. They were hot and crunchy but here’s the dis­ap­point­ing thing: They had one-dimensional taste. I was hop­ing for a slight acidic tang and less salt. My mem­ory harked back to the amaz­ing wings I used to eat at Crooks on Front St. East in Toronto dur­ing the 1980s when I was food edi­tor at the Toronto Sun. No comparison.

Oh well, I’ve done my sleuthing, saw Nia­gara Falls for the first time from the peace and quiet of my car and savoured a deli­cious frozen cus­tard cone at a nearby fast food joint as the per­fect post-wing antidote.

Of course, my chicken wing sleuthing doesn’t stop here. I’ll be eat­ing them around Toronto for weeks to come and will report back.