W is for Wings.

I remember days when I’d buy a pack of chicken wings, make a sweet sticky chilli sauce, get an ice cold Fanta Grape (what I used to call TV wine), plant myself in front of the TV and binge watch a series over a weekend. That was when I was thin and had a metabolic rate faster than the Gautrain.

I began to wean myself off chicken in August of 2015 – I’ve made some friends butter chicken but haven’t eaten chicken for a few months… and I haven’t died. In honour of me not giving in to the sometimes glorious smells of fried, roasted or baked chicken, here is a throwback to post on chicken wings.


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