While you’re at it, add a case of Chiavetta’s or Weber’s mustard to your online cart.
“Wait, you guys didn’t get drunk at a beer tent in a church parking lot next to carnival rides, a dunk tank and temporarily legalized gambling? These gold mines of religious fundraising and parish-endorsed debauchery didn’t exist where you grew up?”
And they are exactly what they sound like.
The entire Western New York region may shut down on game day as rabid fans fill up bars and living rooms, but two decades of mediocrity make it almost unheard of to catch a game on national TV. Last time it happened: “hmm…is this a new expansion team? Holy shit, the Bills are on!”
Breakfast is a Greek diner. Lunch is beef on weck at Anderson’s, a trip to Ted’s or a chicken finger sub at Jim’s SteakOut. Then maybe some wings (obviously), Mighty Taco and a box of sponge candy, all washed down with a loganberry or a few Blue Lights. Sounds like a glorious day of gastronomic magic, but Buffalo’s greatest bites are far – so far – from health food.
Turns out the rest of the country (Minnesota excluded) doesn’t seem to care much about hockey.
And you’ve almost forgotten who your injury attorneys were.
Standard procedure after those lake-effect snowpocalypses that hit a few times a year.
With a pizza joint on every corner, it’s no wonder everyone had their favorite, and they’d be more than willing to defend their crust, sauce and tiny circles of pepperoni until things got physical.
You mean my current city doesn’t have more Catholics than the Vatican and it’s no longer written in the city charter that crispy beer-battered haddock be served on every corner?
For half the year, I’m sure it’s confusing to see a strange yellow orb in the sky over your new city.
With Buffalo bars open until four, maybe you’d head to Elmwood or Allentown (or god forbid, Chippewa) at one, when most of the country is ready to call a cab. After some time away, that schedule seems quite ridiculous. Or maybe you’re just getting old.
And then you’re back for a wedding and the DJ invariably cranks it out just between “We Are Family” and “No Diggity”. Meanwhile all of the natives are freaking out and belting out an endless line of “little bit louder nows” while the out-of-towners are wondering what the hell is going on. Whether or not you join in is directly impacted by how many drinks deep you are.
How many Thursday’s did you spend swilling Labatt Blue on the steps of a statue as the Mighty Mighty Bosstones ripped through a free set for an audience of office workers and college students? Meanwhile you just shelled out $75 for a band you barely like and can’t help but think, “that was pretty awesome.”
Guys, seriously…we need to talk. Tim Horton’s is terrible. Unless Jim Kelly is working the drive-through, you don’t have to line up every morning and block traffic. There are better ways to caffeinate yourself.
When you lived here, there were more waterfront revitalization proposals than Rob Ray career penalties. You assumed they’d be filed alongside Tom Brady getting a key to the city as a “never-gonna-happen” — until you came home for Christmas and stumbled onto Canalside and HARBORCENTER. Is that an outdoor ice rink for skating and curling? There are free concerts, paddleboats and lawn games in the summer? I can rent a kayak then come back and grab a beer at one of the swankiest sports bars I’ve ever seen? Progress is possible! 