Uncle Bubba's Chicken Wing Fling

Uncle Bubba was dead. At least, I figured that he would be as soon as Aunt Irma caught up with him.

Not that Bubba was really to blame. The whole thing really came about through a series of harmless, if not ill-timed, events. It was just plain bad luck that put them all together into what Aunt Irma has since referred to as the "Moon Over the Azaleas" incident.

All I knew at the beginning of that Saturday was that Aunt Irma was going to be gone all afternoon, and Uncle Bubba had asked me to come over for some special wings. I knew what this meant, of course - a trip to the county line.

Aunt Irma didn't allow any hard liquor in the house at all - not a drop. Bubba always kept a bottle of good Kentucky bourbon out in the tool shed, and if he wanted to do anything other than sneak out for a few sips with Skeeter and the fellows, he had to wait until Aunt Irma was going to be away.

I drove over to Uncle Bubba's house about mid-day that Saturday, expecting to see him firing up the grill out back. Instead, Bubba was stomping around the living room, cussing and ranting and spitting out the window every time he walked by.

I couldn't make anything out of what he was saying, so I just sat down in the recliner and waited for him to calm down. It took a good twenty minutes.

When Uncle Bubba finally stopped and took a deep breath, I knew that I was finally going to hear all about it. He grabbed the keys to his truck and motioned toward the door.

Bubba drove toward the interstate, and straight to the liquor store. Cut Plug is in a dry precinct, so it was a thirty-minute round trip just to pick up a bottle.

We were halfway to the county line before he finally began to open up a little. It seemed that my Uncle had finally taken a step toward realizing his dream: opening a chicken wing café out by the highway. He had apparently got up the nerve to go and talk to the local banker, Mr. Trickle, about a loan to get him started.

One important thing to note about the Cut Plug economy is that it revolves completely around the cement plant at the edge of town. Of the eight hundred people living in Cut Plug, about eighty percent of the adults work there. I guess that Mr. Trickle didn't believe in Uncle Bubba's idea enough to give him the money. I sort of understood, I guess. Most of the townsfolk brown-bagged it to the plant, and money was always tight enough that eating out was a luxury. Still, Uncle Bubba believed in the idea, and he saw it as the only hope that he had of getting out of the plant and working for himself.

When we got to the store, Bubba ran in and got a bottle of Amaretto liqueur. He had to fret over it a little on the way back, saying how he thought it was kind of a sissy drink, but I knew that it was just part of the act that he had to go through. A bourbon man had to carry on a bit when purchasing syrupy stuff like that.

I thought that he might have been through ranting about Mr. Trickle, but it wasn't long before he picked right up where he left off. Bubba carried on all the way back to the house, and even when he started cooking the wings. He mixed the sauce up on the stove as the wings were baking, all the while giving me the details about the conversation at the bank.

Apparently Mr. Trickle had offered that Uncle Bubba should just be thankful for the job that he had at the plant. Bubba responded by suggesting that Trickle had gotten used to such a cushy job at the bank that he wouldn't be able to survive a single day at the plant. From what I understood, things just went downhill from there.

After the sauce was mixed up, Bubba split the Amaretto into two mason jars and we stood around the stove and sipped on it while the wings were baking. This went on for almost an hour, and by the time that the wings were ready, Uncle Bubba had a different scheme. He decided that the only way to reclaim his dignity after the incident at the bank was for us to drive over to Mr. Trickle's house, honk the horn, and moon him good when he looked out of the window.

The bank closed at noon since it was Saturday, so I knew that Trickle would be home by then, but the whole thing just didn't seem like a well-conceived plan. Uncle Bubba was adamant, though, so I figured that if I went along with him, I could steer him away from as much trouble as possible.

I insisted on driving, since I'd only sipped out of my jar, and Uncle Bubba had pretty much finished his. We drove three streets over to Mr. Trickle's house, pulled up in the driveway, and I punched the horn a couple of times. The curtains rustled in the front window, and Uncle Bubba quickly dropped his jeans and pressed his rear end up against the glass of the truck's passenger door. Right about that time, Aunt Irma and the rest of the women in the Cut Plug Garden Club walked around the side of the house. They were all decked out in their finest dresses, wearing their hair piled high on their head, and even sporting Spring corsages.

I later found out that they were on their Spring Blossom Tour, and had stopped at Marianne Trickle's house to see her azalea bushes in full bloom. What they saw, though, was Uncle Bubba's butt cheeks pressed flat against the glass like two giant slugs on the aquarium wall. Time just stopped for a few moments, as the ladies stood there, frozen in horror. Aunt Irma's eyes got wider when she recognized the truck, then her mouth dropped open, and half a minute later she just fainted face-first right over into the azaleas.

Bubba decided that it would be a capital time to spend the rest of the weekend fishing, and last I heard, Aunt Irma was scouring every pond and stream trying to find him.

I stopped back by their house and took the Amaretto wings home with me, of course. There's no need to waste something that tasty. If you'd like to try them for yourself, the recipe is easy.

You'll need:

20 Chicken Wings, separated
3 tbsp Flour
2 tsp Paprika
1 tsp ground white pepper
1 tsp salt
1 tsp dried minced garlic
1 dash red pepper
3 tbsp Vegetable Oil
1 cup Amaretto liqueur
1 tbsp Dijon Mustard
1 can 6 1/4 oz Frozen Concentrated Orange Juice

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees, and follow the Getting Started chapter to prepare the wings. Mix the flour and dry spices together, then use it to coat the wings. Heat the oil in a skillet, and sauté the wings until they just start to turn brown - do not overcook! Depending on the size of your skillet, this may have to be done in multiple passes. If this is the case, an extra splash of oil may be required. Take the wings out and put them in a casserole dish.

Blend the frozen concentrated orange juice with one-half can of water. Pour it into the skillet, return it to the burner, then add the mustard and Amaretto. Allow the mixture to come to a boil - be sure to stir it continuously. It will eventually thicken. When it does, pour the sauce over the chicken wings. Cover the casserole dish with foil and bake for 45 minutes. By the way, any remaining Amaretto that you didn't use for cooking tastes best just like Uncle Bubba serves it - right out of mason jars.