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I’m having commitment problems. For years I’ve been devoted to a single-wing recipe, a beautiful Buffalo rendition characterized by crisp skin, Frank’s based sauce and a side of cool blue cheese. Then I went Asian and the rock slide began. Now it seems I’m ravenous for any wing order, so long as the flavors resonate and the flesh isn’t dry.

After the Source, I headed to Johnny’s Half Shell for savory, dry-rubbed wings grilled over a smokey flame. Ann Cashion‘s green goddess dressing pushed me over the edge, though I wish her wings were a little less soggy. At Duffy’s I enjoyed a threesome of Old Bay rubbed and barbecue wings, recently added to a menu that already features multiple mentions for city’s best.

At Comet Ping Pong, I indulged wings at their most exotic. A braised number cooked in a vinegary broth spiked with jalapeño, cinnamon, and chili flakes. The spices reduced over time to a paste that induced a spice driven, long, slow, burn characteristic of Jamaica’s jerk. Far from crisp, the melting tender meat simply fell from its bones. Even the cartilage was succulent.

To follow, I paired up with one of the best pizzas I’ve had in a while. The black, blistered crust was soft and forgiving with that hint of tang that indicates a nice long ferment. It was good enough to ignore a staff that looked straight from college and high school, complete with flannel shirts, bed heads and a less-than-attentive nature.

While far from loyal I’m certainly well rounded, and with so many great wings to sample I can’t see how anyone could blame me.

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