One last observation from what was obviously a long-overdue respite from the incessant online food BS I waste far too much time on at home. After tearing to the airport to get back, we had an unexpected half-hour to kill, and of course when the flight gets delayed, the delayed get wine. So we ducked into the new branch of the Anchor Bar in the Jet Blue area for some shiver shiraz and chardonnay. While gagging mine down, I was marveling at the city’s shrewdness in giving a local landmark prime real estate even though everyone knows the wings are better (and probably cheaper) just about anywhere else. Then I noticed the one sign attesting to the greatness of the snack invented at the original greasy/musty tavern — a “best of Buffalo” award from a magazine in 1999. Ten years ago. So now I read that the Road Sprats have a book coming out on American foods you must eat before they disappear (the foods, not the authors). And I guess it’s nice to know these wings have less in common with microraptors than with cockroaches. They ain’t going anywhere.