Luckily, Dinger did 18 months of market research before we arrived, sparing us the generally terrible food in Kansas City. The places he found are all knockouts. (Except for the brunch place with no liquor license.)
To set things off, I lit up my Southwest plane trip with some whiskey, Coors Light, and coffee.
Our midnight snack on Friday night was a frozen pizza that someone ruined.
The next morning, Dinger took us to a brunch place (again, to be clear, with no liquor license) where Dan and I ordered the Sumo. It cost $15 and could feed someone for a week. We each took home pounds of the stuff in to-go boxes. I grifted my 25% of the total dish to Jay for $14. He’ll never find out, because I don’t think they have internet in Bermuda.
Oklahoma Joe’s. I’ll never have a better pork rib. Sad.
We made it back to The Peanut, though this time we took our 48 (a.k.a. 96) wings to go. Each wing is really an unhinged wing-drumstick combo, so you gotta double it, man.