Buffalo Wings with Blue Cheese Sauce and Apple Pie

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this before but I’m an only child. I mean, both of my parents each had two children in their first marriage but I wasn’t raised with them and I’m the only one my parents had together so I’m still technically an only child. People who are the only child get a bad rap. We’re often portrayed as spoiled, stubborn, and extremely opinionated. I’ll admit, I’m all those but I’m also generous, kind (being kind is different from being nice, fyi), and very self-aware. I feel like it all balances out to where I’m a semi-functioning contributing member of society.

In addition to having all those wonderful qualities, I have another that I am not proud of: I hate being wrong. Now many people hate being wrong but I feel like only children especially hate being wrong. I think part of it is we rarely had peers who would call us out on being wrong and we don’t know how to handle it. Parents telling you you’re wrong is one thing, that’s their job, but a peer doing it brings to light a whole other layer of reflection. And not just a peer but a sibling. From what I’ve observed, siblings tell each other they’re wrong all the time and they rarely get their feelings hurt or feel like their intellect is being questioned. Some of it is probably learning how to choose your battles but I think the biggest is knowing that even though that person just said you’re wrong, they still have to love you and you being wrong doesn’t change that.

Only children don’t get that. If someone told us we were wrong during our formative years, we had to prove that we weren’t. If we couldn’t, that would be a failure on not just our debating skills but maybe our knowledge of the subject (translation: we felt stupid). And you know who gets rejected? Stupid people. So we have a fear of being wrong because not only does it make us feel dumb but what if it leads to people not liking us? It’s already hard enough to find people that will play with you because they want to and not because they have to. WE HAVE TO KEEP THESE PEOPLE.

I bring all this up so you’ll understand how hard it is for me to admit that I was wrong about American cuisine being made up mostly of fried foods. It totally is.

Really Melissa? All that introspection to admit what we already knew?!

You know what else only children are? Dramatic.

After the heart attack inducing meal of chicken fried steak, mac n’ cheese, and fried okra, I decided to try something much healthier: fried buffalo wings in cheese sauce with an apple pie that required almost a pound of butter. I’m scheduling an artery cleaning for next week.

I got the idea to make this meal from my friend’s mother, who is from Buffalo, New York. I always forget the New York connection when I think of Buffalo wings. I actually forget about any connection with Buffalo wings when I’m eating them because I’m too busy shoving deliciousness into my mouth to think about anything else.

They weren’t difficult to make although I am currently nursing a minor grease burn on my arm from frying the wings. I made sure to pat them dry before putting them in the hot oil but those suckers still popped more than champagne bottles at a Sunday brunch. The floor and counter top around my stove was super slick and there is still a slight sheen to it.

I know my pic of the sauce looks like it’s just sour cream but I swear there are bigass chunks of blue cheese in there. I probably should have broken down the cheese a bit more but meh, still good.

 

The apple pie was to die for and I don’t like pies. I’m not big on desserts in general but pies especially make me want to gag. I think it’s the warm, squishy texture of the fruit. I love what the syrups do to the crusts but I don’t think anyone sells pie crusts that have been soaked in syrup. They should. I misjudged the amount of apples I’d need so it wasn’t as full as it should have been but that’s okay, the filling is my least favorite part of pies anyway. The crust was incredibly flaky and broke apart as soon as my fork touched it. It was fabulous!

As I was eating all this good food, I literally said to James “Fat American food is so good!” Fine, we don’t eat the healthiest food out there but we’re very happy and that counts for something. Happiness is a plate of fried food.

Recipe, Recipe

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3 thoughts on “Buffalo Wings with Blue Cheese Sauce and Apple Pie”

      1. Actually, probably yes. I’ve seen Frank’s hot sauce on the shelf here (because, let’s face it, I’m too lazy to go to the trouble of making the sauce from scratch) ;).

        Like

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