At some point, I was introduced to the Coach Daddy blog. I think it was through Ilene at the Fierce Diva Guide to Life or Chris at TheMomCafe. Either way, I’m glad I found his blog. First of all, it’s nice to read a parenting blog by a dude. Also, he randomly mentions food a lot.
One time, he mentioned garlic parmesan wings. And, well, like Pavlov’s dog, I crave those wings every time I read Eli’s posts or he comments on this blog. I’m hoping this guest post will help cure my obsession with these wings.
Actually, what I’m really hoping is that my husband prints this post out and plans accordingly. (There’s a Bruins playoff game on this evening. Just saying.)
The following is a guest post from Eli, otherwise known as Coach Daddy.
Wings are king.
We’re not even from Buffalo. But my girls and I, we love wings. So the inch-high stack of Buffalo Wild Wings coupons (six free when you purchase six), delivered by a college girl in a black and yellow t-shirt when I worked at a Hampton Inn, is to us what the Tesseract is to the bad guy in Captain America.
I’ve spent enough time across the table with these girls to pick up on subtleties and tendencies of their wing-destroying ways. I’ve even learned how to grill (not fry) delectable wings that make my girls’ eyes turn all heart-shaped and their tongues kind of wag.
Not all guys just chomp into wings indiscriminately and slobber over Hooters waitresses. I’m a thinking-man’s wing-eater. I’ve developed five toggles that will tell you much about you at your most basic core. It kind of makes Myers & Briggs look like Bert & Ernie.
Where do you fall on the list?
Hot or sweet?
There’s something about someone who always chooses the sweet route. Either they’re 6 years old, or they’re the person who comes to Super Bowl parties just for the commercials. Do us a favor: Just stay home to watch the GoDaddy ads, and keep that sickeningly sweet barbecue wing with you.
Marie is on a mission to work her way up the wing-ometer, with a hotter wing every time we go. Atta girl, Marie. Wings without spice are like soda without caffeine. Or a college without a football team. Your wings should zing, maybe even sting.
Baked or fried?
Everything, in moderation. I grill wings for the girls now. Everything – even veggies – are better grilled. Baked is good, too. It’s the business casual, the two-door sedan: The safe, delicious version. With the right rub, it’s going to taste like Christmas and Independence Day, anyway.
Everything, in moderation, II. Sometimes, it’s about jeans and a T-shirt. A 1968 Camaro. Red Hot Chili Peppers, played a bit too loud. Fried is the reason for the season, and if we go baked and grilled 100 percent of the time, next thing you know, we fellas will be getting manies and peddies.
Drumette hog, or take what Jesus gives you?
You’re like the dude who pulls out in front of me in traffic, then puts on your seatbelt. Total.Tool. God gave chickens two wings, made of two parts. In this world, there are an equal number of wing tips and drumettes. When you target the meaty portions, you’re upsetting the balance of the universe.
Take what Jesus gives you
Where two or more are gathered in His name, he is there too. This goes for a booth in China King or on your backyard patio furniture. Whether you have a cold one and wings with the boys, or sweet tea and wings with the kids, just be happy you’re in a universe that includes wings. Amen.
Eat to the bone, or leave some on
Leave some on
Communist. You probably don’t eat your pizza crusts either, and I’m sure you don’t recycle. You’d rather toss out your MC Hammer CDs than get up early on a Saturday morning and put them in a yard sale. What gives you the right? You’d make a lousy Allosaurus. Your Carnivore Card? Revoked.
Eat to the bone
You’d make a Sioux chief proud, little warrior. Waste not, want not. You’re the type to repurpose, plant a tree, or at least ask for a doggie bag (and stuff rolls, butter and jelly in it, too). Resourceful. Appreciative. Able to put your all into everything you do. I want you on my team.
Modest or free spirit?
Elise used to demand when I made wings, “make them messy, daddy!” Who am I kidding? She still does. Wing eaters should approach the art with abandon. Paper towels and wet naps, be damned. This is why God put sleeves on shirts. Ain’t nothing a plate of wings can do that a good hosing off can’t remedy.
I won’t slam this subset. Marie used to take one bite, and wipe her hands and mouth. Now? She hardly chews. But if you have a nice shirt on, or want to stand out to Tiffany your server, or just aren’t as barbaric as my kids and I, I’ll give you a pass. You can even use my napkin. It’s hardly used.
How’d you do?
There isn’t a breakdown for your answers. This isn’t Cosmo. You know where you stand. The more of the first answers described you, the better (except baked vs. fried. Can’t we all just get along?)
I will impart a recipe that bonds Jen and I and that will probably spread love and tenderness worldwide if we let it. Garlic.Parmesan.Wings. Also known as the real reason Jen asked me over!
Coach Daddy’s Garlic Parmesan Wings
What’ you’ll need
- 1 teaspoon dried oregano
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1 teaspoon sea salt
- 2 1/2 pounds chicken wings
- 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil (or melted butter)
- 2 tablespoons minced fresh basil
- 1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese
- 1/2 teaspoon seasoning salt
- 1 cup bleu cheese dressing (for dipping perfection)
What you’ll do
In a small bowl, mix cumin, oregano and salt. Lay the wings on a baking sheet and season the chicken wings with this mixture.
Grill the wings. At the same time, mix together oil, basil, garlic, parmesan cheese and seasoning salt. Toss the grilled-perfection wings with the garlic/cheese/olive oil (or butter) sauce. Serve with the blue cheese dressing, and save six on a plate for me. I’ll bring dessert.