Another Nugget that looks like something:

It looks just like Italy below the Mezzogiorno Line!

or just a dumb old boot...

http://www.miamiherald.com/2012/05/15/2800208/sale-of-chicken-nugget-shaped.html

The Holy Grail of Chicken Fingers:

Imagine if you could make chicken fingers out of manatees. How delicious would a tender of a blubbery animal that lives its entire life suspended weightlessly in a warm salty brine be?

Pub on Penn: Wings are Just Chicken Fingers with Boners

       ***Note, this is a Sub-Review containing no information on Chicken Fingers***     

          If there is a healthier and more fulfilling way to fend off life’s stresses and depressions than eating as many chicken wings as possible while getting drunk on pitcher after pitcher of skunkily cheap beer then I don’t want to know about it. Wing Night at Pub on Penn is a disgusting display of gluttonous excess that plagues the Punk District of Cap Hill every Wednesday night. Large wooden planks are placed on top of pool tables in order to accommodate the ravenous overweight clientele who park themselves into the dive and order basket after basket of multiflavored wings.

             

           I’ve been attending wing night here for over a year now and have it down to a science. The trick is to get there extremely early after work and lie down across several chairs and tables until all of your lazy irresponsible friends show up and sit in the seats that you sacrificed your body and dignity to save. Then you must make sure to have a good working relationship with your waitress, because she’ll get really damn busy. I would wager that they handle at least 500 bones an hour, and that’s enough to put calluses on your hands if not properly lubed with sauce. If you are not vigilant with your waitress, you will be staring at a basket full of stripped wings as a wave of hungerless depression spreads through your body. The only way to combat this feeling is to force more wings and beer down your gullet, tricking your body into thinking that it actually WANTS you to put more substances inside of it.

               

            Since I’m from upstate New York, the birthplace of the chicken wing, I consider myself to be somewhat of an expert on the topic. So as far as their wings go, the Pub on Penn will have as much luck with this review as a pre-oiled effeminate baby-faced 8 year old boy does at a NAMBLA party where the punch was spiked with MDMA. If I need to spell that out for you further, this will be a life scaring pedophilic rape of a review…

               

         Imagine an overgrown clump of bulbous slimy meat hanging off a deformed limb of a flightless bird that spent 2 minutes less than it should have in a deep fryer: and you have the wings at Pub on Penn. The mere fact that they actually fry their wings wins them a ton of points though, since this town seems to have a strict aversion to frying chicken wings. They come in a variety of flavors: Mild, Hot, BBQ, Asian, Spicy Garlic and Gator Rub. The mild and the hot are just your standard buffalo wing with the exception of getting the buffalo sauce right. The recipe for proper buffalo sauce is Franks Hot Sauce and melted butter; there is no excuse for screwing this up. The BBQ is a thick chunky mess of what appeared to be tomato paste with a splash of liquid smoke in it for a slight hint of flavor. The Spicy Garlic and the Asian sauce are both pretty decent, but the sweetness of corn syrupy Asian sauce gets old quickly. Finally, the Gator Wings, aka The Dry Rub, are only useful if you wish to maintain slimeless fingers. As we all know from our early innocent days of hooking up, dry rubs can be a very painful experience leaving you so sore that you question the very idea of the act. This is essentially the case with the Gator wings. The rub itself is bland that I would wager a guess that it is made out of red food coloring that was allowed to dry into a powder.

               

            You may be wondering why I subject myself to these mass produced, horribly flavored and notoriously undercooked chicken wings. The answer to that is simple: it’s $5 for all you can eat wings on a pretty sweet patio surrounded by pitchers of beer and great friends. The take away from this anal gape of a review is that though food is important, the quality of the experience ranks just as high. It was never my intention to be a run of the mill fine dining foodie blogger, but rather to bring you a review of the every-day-joe dive spots around town, with using chicken fingers as the foundation. Though I absolutely love and appreciate fine dining, I appreciate diarrheal dining just as much. If you are unable to appreciate the worst, then you are unable to understand why the best is the best. 


Don't forget to clean your fingers in the finger bowl after a particularly sloppy fingerbang!!!

 -Jason

Beer Can Chicken Corner:
         Pitchers of Bud, duh.
-Kevin

Digital Stimulation at The Park Tavern

              With today’s culture so focused on the digital stimuli of our tablets, and our touch screens, and our tronz, let us not forget to true meaning of the word “digital”: of or having to do with, the FINGER.  We, The Finger Bangers, wish to bring a more personal touch to digital stimulation… And with this, we give you our first chicken finger review: The Park Tavern.

               

              I’ll be honest; we handpicked The Park Tavern to be our very first review because we knew that we absolutely loved their chicken fingers. Despite my overall negative feelings of the PT, they have been known to finger bang me to gastricgasm many times, so we figured that a nice fluff piece would be the perfect way to get the ball rolling, but we were in for a shocker of a surprise.

               

            Though it is a bar staple of Cap Hill, I do my best to avoid the Park Tavern even while living across the street. The bro’d out atmosphere, unnecessarily loud awful music, and habitual staff turnover rate usually leave me bouncing my leg with anxiety and drinking faster than I need to in order to calm my nerves. Thankfully we managed to find a seat on the front patio last night in order to avoid the dreadful interior. It was a who’s who of Capitol Hill on 11^th avenue. Several people we knew walked by and we enjoyed some stop-n-chats. The air smelled of cigarettes and gasoline as everybody’s favorite type of person, dudes on obnoxiously loud motorcycles, buzzed the patio. The service was as bad as it usually is at the PT, though our waitress (who seemed to be neck deep in the weeds) was very friendly. I ordered the same beer 3 times before getting one, but hey… that’s what you get at the Park Tavern so there is no use in complaining. 

  The best antidote for my Park Tavern anxieties was always the perfectly triangular-golden brown- flakey white meat chicken fingers that were served in a delight conical metal basket. These fingers were exactly what I wanted when I craved a good blasting, but I was in for a terrible disappointment last night. The Park Tavern had pulled out their fingers mid blasting and changed them up. As soon as the red plastic basket was put on the table in front of me and I saw foreign shaped nuggets of processed chicken, I feared that our first review would be a bad one. My first bite confirmed these fears when could immediately tell by the texture of the “meat” that it wasn’t an actually a pounded chicken breast filet, but rather a molded lump of the notorious “pink slime” chicken substance breaded and passed off as actual meat. I had flashbacks to being habitually disappointed by eating the mysterious chicken patty in my highschool cafeteria. The Park Tavern is apparently struggling as much as our budget slashed public education system if they have the need to serve Grade F meat to its customers.  The only saving grace is that my first bowel movement after consumption was solid, unlike the times I had to sneak into the Teacher’s Bathroom during 8^th period after eating the chicken patty for lunch.

Like I said, I was hoping that our first review would be a good one in order to start things off on a positively sensual note, but The Park Tavern went in with dirt under their fingernails and left us with an infection. For this reason, I am only inserting Two out of Five fingers into the Park Tavern, and Dana gives them Three. For reference, Zero fingers is inedible to the point where they need to be sent back, One is so disgusting that we couldn’t finish eating them, Two is really bad but we ate all of them, Three is average, Four is pretty damn good, and Five is the type of finger bang that you remember from your very first adolescent experimentation….the kind that still gives you goosebumps when you think about it today.

-Jason

Beer Can Chicken Corner:

The Park Tavern is not known for its beer list, nor its cock-tails.  However, if you decide to finger yourself on a Tuesday, you can take advantage of their $2 u call it from 4 pm to Close.  Just be sure to order 2 at a time because the drink service can be a little spotty.  The small and crisp fingers at the PT match perfectly with the Stone IPA.  The hoppiness of this beer will ensure your fingering is filled with happiness.

-Kevin

A note on the Format of our reviews:

The Finger Bangers are Dana, Kevin and Jason. Dana is the pretty one who takes awesome photos and is an expert on chicken fingers. Kevin is a beer lover who will provide beer pairing for each chicken finger in the sub column Beer Can Chicken Corner, and Jason is the overly wordy writer and self proclaimed expert finger blaster. Together we bring you the best chicken finger content on the tronz and provide you with innuendo laced reviews of our favorite food.

The review scale:

We review by inserting fingers into restaurants:


ZERO FINGERS:       inedible to the point where they need to be sent back

ONE FINGER:           so disgusting that we couldn’t finish eating them,

TWO FINGERS:        really bad but we ate all of them,

THREE FINGERS:    average

FOUR FINGERS:       pretty damn good

FIVE FINGERS:         the type of finger bang that you remember from your very first adolescent experimentation….the kind that still gives you goosebumps  when you think about it today.

You are very wrong on this one, Julian

Get Fingered:

Like most young children, we had an obsession with chicken fingers. Whenever our parents took us out to eat they had to make sure in advance that the restaurant served chicken fingers or face the stubborn wrath of their finger-food-finicky offspring. We all have powerful memories from these days featuring a range of emotions between sheer joy and utter disappointment. As we all know, no two chicken finger are alike… which leaves open a wide range of personal preference.

We all had our favorite type of finger and we all knew exactly where we could get them. I distinctly remember looking forward to my family’s annual trip to Toronto because of the quality of the chicken fingers served in the Delta Chelsea Hotel in which we always stayed. We would eat there twice a day and I would always finger blast myself into tender heaven.

Then, of course, there was the always anxiety riddled trip to a new restaurant with chicken fingers of unknown quality. The feeling we got after taking our first bite into a brand new chicken finger just to find out it was not up to par was always soul crushing. This blog was created in attempt to rid all you chicken finger aficionados of this feeling once and for all by reviewing every chicken finger we can!

-The Finger Bangers