Photo Credit: Flickr
We recently got an email from the folks that make Frank’s RedHot (or at least the people they hired to contact obviously important writers such as ourselves) about an Frank’s RedHot event, The Frank’s RedHot “Get Franked” Bus Tour.
Now, if you have been reading this site for any amount of time, or if you just realized it is a hot wing site and came to the common sense conclusion, you would realize we are pretty huge fans of Frank’s. After all, Frank’s RedHot is the THE definitive hot wing sauce. We’ve enjoyed lots of other good sauces over time but Frank’s is the original and has been around literally since the beginning of wings.
So, when they approached us to help promote their upcoming event we were happy to oblige. Thanks for the sauce, Frank’s!
Here are the details:
The Frank’s RedHot “Get #Franked” Bus Tour—check out this full-fledged interactive venue jam-packed with exciting things to do:
- Participate in interactive games
- Win awesome Frank’s RedHot prizes
- Taste delicious “RedHot” food and game day snacks
- Sample Frank’s RedHot’s great flavors—Original, Sweet Chili, Buffalo & Xtra Hot
Meet our Frank’s RedHot ambassadors who will keep the party hopping with games, contests and RedHot giveaways!
WHEN & WHERE:
Tuesday, March 5th at 1:05 PM
Oakland A’s vs. World Baseball Classic
Phoenix Municipal Stadium
5999 East Van Buren St.
Phoenix, AZ 85008
Wednesday, March 6th at 1:00 PM
LA Dodger’s vs. Mexico
5999 East Van Buren St.
Phoenix, AZ 85008
Hope to see you all there!
We couldn’t possibly take a photo this cool, so we stole it from their Facebook.
When I was a kid, downtown Phoenix was a ghost town. The Suns still played at the Madhouse on McDowell and there were mostly trains and warehouses downtown, with the occasional skyscraper. I kind of imagine there was a lot of bum-rape and pee smell too, but I can’t back that up. When the Suns started construction on a new, state-of-the-art arena in 1990, the city was buzzing. Were we finally going to get a downtown district? Were new businesses going to come in and inject money and fun into the area and attract residents back into the core of this sprawl? We were all dying to find out. So, how did it go?
It went okay.
New skyscrapers started going up slowly and businesses moved in, kicking out the vagrants and the hobos and the warehouses (but not the bum piss smell). In a brilliant move in 1996, the Coyotes brought hockey…a sport on ice…to Phoenix, the hottest major city in North America. In 1998 the Bank One Ballpark (now Chase Field, a stupid name that I refuse to say) opened and brought professional baseball to downtown Phoenix. 3 major sports teams, the fifth biggest city in the nation, a bustling population with a housing boom, and a bit less bum-rape. So how was downtown at the end of the century?
See, here’s what downtown Phoenix didn’t get back then: unlike shopping centers in developing suburbs and stripmalls with grocery stores, unlike open-air malls with movie theaters and BevMos, unlike what any Phoenix real estate moguls had previously found success with, a downtown area can’t just sprout up by throwing money at it. It’s landlocked. It’s not going anywhere. There’s no incentive to make it better when we can just keep moving outwards and further away from the decay of a city that was never as much of an urban center as a loose affiliation of farming communities tied together by sporadic-but-sudden growth.
Indiana Garcia? Arizona Jones? Ahh, I’ve got it: Bad Photoshop Martinez
Far across the world, in places unfamiliar and largely unknown to us, lies an untold legend of the bravery and adventuring of two men of immense strength and handsomeness. Their heroism is told in hieroglyphs on the walls of temples across these foreign lands, and the indigenous peoples chant their names in songs around funeral pyres and buffets of roasted flesh in celebration of these heroes.
The legend tells of one man who had facial hair so manly and delicious it made Chuck Norris and the Dos Equis guy look like Giada DeLaurentis’ husband Todd (who is a little bitch) and Ina Garten’s husband Jeffrey (who is another little bitch) and then made them fight on a trampoline hovering over a vat of KY Jelly while singing Katy Perry songs. It tells of another man with a vast array of black shirts, shirts so black they made Wesley Snipes look like Clay Aiken and crafted with such fine materials that they made Versace look like Kathy Ireland’s K-Mart line of clothes if they were modeled by the hobo in front of Angie & Jimmy’s.
This legend says these men made women quiver so hard it could start earthquakes. This legend says they walked with enough swagger to make Sinatra stop being an alcoholic just long enough to realize he’d been out-swagged and then start becoming an alcoholic again. This legend spoke of men risking it all to review the most delicious of foods.
This legend…is the Legend of the Temple of Casey Jones Grill.
In the three weeks preceding our visit to CK’s Tavern and Grill in Ahwatukee we were having wings from Half Moon, Arcadia Tavern, and Rino D’s. Three weeks in a row of forgettable, mediocre wings. Spoiler alert: CK’s brought that to a total of four weeks in a row.
Four fucking weeks in some kind of hot wing purgatory. After all the excellent places we had been to in the past this quality hot wing drought was kicking my ass. All we wanted were some great hot wings and some good, cheap beer. CK’s delivered on the latter but our quest for superb wings had ended in failure again.
The thing is that the wings were not even actually all that bad. They were nothing special about them but I remember thinking at the time they were pretty solid. Now I just remember them as mediocre. Maybe it is just me. Maybe solid hot wings just don’t cut it anymore. Maybe I have reached a whole new level of wing-snobbery. I don’t know.
Their logo designer failed astronomy.
If you listen to the radio at any time on any given day, you’ll notice two things: One, you’ll notice that it’s awful. Two, you’ll hear a Maroon 5 song. It’s inescapable, you ARE going to hear one. If you ever turn on the radio and flip around and don’t hear one, you can take it as a sign of the impending apocalypse. One can recognize them by the incredibly shitty falsetto of the lead singer and the completely dull and unmemorable nature of the song. For some reason, people love this lifeless crap and for the life of me I can’t understand why.
After leaving Half Moon, I realized that this phenomenon of people loving dull things is not limited to music alone.
I went once and was not impressed, but that was years ago. It could have been the prices, or it could have been the coiffed-hair touting mid-30s fellows lounging in there (not quite Affliction bros,they were more of the 401K and stocks-talk variety ) which doesn’t really jive with my style, because I am fat and eat hot wings. Plus, I didn’t even go into the bar that night, I went to the sit-down restaurant portion of Half Moon which seemed to be half sports bar, half contemporary ski lodge. Read more
We headed down to Arcadia for a second time to check out another wing joint that happens to be almost right next door to the last Arcadia place we visited, JT’s Bar & Grill. This is almost unfair to Arcadia Tavern because it just invites the comparison between the two and JT’s happens to be one of our favorite spots so far, currently ranking third behind only NY Boyz and Angie & Jimmy’s. We didn’t set out to just compare the two places though so we tried to be objective (sort of).
Arcardia Tavern lives up to its namesake neighborhood. The place looks nice and is situated in the prime corner spot. Parking was a little tricky which seems to be the norm around there. Really just not enough parking for all of their patrons. We lucked into a spot as someone was leaving so it didn’t turn out too bad.
We grabbed a couple spots on the patio to enjoy the decent weather outside (in February – suck it, cold states) and watch the Suns take on Dragic and the Rockets. Little did we know there was an awful University of Arizona flag looming over our heads at this table. That has to be some kind of bad luck. Now, the logical part of me has always argued that U of A is not so bad because more higher education and better educated people in general are good for our state but on the other hand, fuck U of A. I’m from the Valley of the Sun, go ASU!
This week’s wing adventure took us to Arcadia to check out JT’s Bar & Grill. JT’s had an excellent reputation going in. It was the winner of New Times Best Of Phoenix for the Best Bar Food in 2011 and Best Neighborhood Bar, Central Phoenix in 2010. They also had a shitload of raving reviews online. So, it was time to put their hot wings to the test. We were of course skeptical because most people don’t know shit about wings.
This place is in a run down strip mall that looks like it has weathered one too many Arizona summers. In picturesque Arcadia this place stuck out like a pimple on a model’s ass. Being that we had had excellent wings at some pretty bad dives before, things were looking good for us so far.
Parking was a little tight. We found a spot easily enough but I could definitely could see it becoming a problem if it got too busy at JT’s or if the citizens of Arcadia ever start campaigning in the parking lot to tear down this blight on the community of a strip mall.
Not pictured: Homeless Mascot
I remember it drizzling the night we made the trek all the way to Glendale, far out of our cushy east valley snobbery (just kidding, I live in Mesa. I am above NO ONE) to visit Angie & Jimmy’s. I remember traffic being heavy on the I-17, Phoenix’s ugliest freeway. I remember that Google Maps told me this place was across the street from a Pro’s Ranch Market and across the street from a dive bar that would put most dive bars to shame. I remember the lack of signage on the restaurant’s front and I remember the dubious placing between a convenience store with no gas pumps and an adult boutique that I assume had several “pumps” of various natures.
I remember a lot of things about the night we went to Angie & Jimmy’s Italian Pizza, but somehow the thing that stands above all of those memories is the taste, texture and smell of their wings, because they were PHENOMENAL.
In a previous review, I mentioned that Buffalo Brown’s Wings & Things was a shithole of a dive, and boy did I mean it, but Angie & Jimmy’s may have them beat for sheer shit-tasticness. Look, this place doesn’t even have the name of the place on the sign out front. It just says “PIZZA”. Had we not already read from other reviews that this place is hard to find, I would have driven right past it, slammed on my brakes, skidded from the rain, rear-ended some ese’s sweet ’94 Caprice and then had to fight Lil Joker and eventually take a bullet for Tyler so his child wouldn’t grow up fatherless and alone and scared to buy burritos because a Mexican murdered her father right in front of “PIZZA” and a porn shop. So for the love of all that is holy and delicious, CHANGE YOUR GOD DAMNED SIGN, A&J’S. I’ll start a petition if I have to, damnit. Read more
Oh, there was a cold chill in the air indeed.
It was the middle of November, though in Phoenix that only means it’s time to think about switching to jeans from shorts to complement your ensemble of a t-shirt and nothing else, and it was time for our weekly outing to wing night. The one difference: My wife wanted to come along with us to Rosie McCaffrey’s. Damnation. I agreed, on the condition that she neither speak nor look any man directly in the eyes, and I told her she could order one item off the menu under $7 but it better not be a damn salad. When she agreed, I lowered my fist away from her face and told her we’d be happy to have her!
I’m kidding, of course, and my wife is awesome, though it was a little weird to have a woman with us since it was normally two guys with 24 wings and countless beers that made up our wing Thursdays. But we pressed on because there were wings to be devoured, damn it, and because after eating at a string of good to great wing places, we were almost looking for a letdown.
We didn’t find that letdown here.
Rosie McCaffrey’s is an Irish pub in central Phoenix with a fairly loyal fanbase of folks who swear by its brand of UK flair, and for good reason. While the place is kitschy in its whole “Hey, we’re another Irish pub in America that is far far away from Ireland and there’s no way for you to verify the authenticity of a place like this!” appeal, it never feels like they’re pandering to you. It’s not like they’ve got shamrock-shaped plates and refer to their hamburgers as hamburger “paddys”, and the servers don’t have to call themselves McShannon or O’Tiffany. The place has a vibe that seems like a mixture of regulars and wanderers alike that are all welcomed into a well-worn but not-quite-dive bar.
Not even joking.
The first thing I want to discuss is this: I know where the “Wings”portion of the name of “Buffalo Browns Wings & Things” comes from. I get that.
But after seeing how immense of a dive this place is, I’m still slight wary that whatever the “Things” in the name are, I could have taken them home with me if I’d have sat down on a toilet seat there. I really don’t want to ask questions as to what the “Things” specifically are, I’m just glad I’m not one of those people that needs a restaurant to be immaculate.
I honestly don’t even need a place to be clean. I don’t even need it to be “sanitary”, per se, because I grew up in the ghetto and I’ll be damned if I didn’t ingest far worse by matter of consequence as a child. Roaches are my friends, dirt never hurt, and kill whitey…that was our motto. And really, thank Jeebus I don’t care because Buffalo Brown’s was the opposite of swank. I mean, there was a pool table in the back that looked like it was there more for storage than to actually be played, and the hand dryer in the bathroom had an actual external cord and was plugged into a wall outlet.