Finally, a rain-spattered Sunday. The perfect kind of day for hot chicken wings. Clouds like floating African elephants hang low over my windows, threatening to crash down any moment. Think of a water filled plastic bag, ready to burst. Love it. All summer, burning eyes peeled on the dry blue skies, we waited for the faintest sign of moisture. Exhausted by bright, hot sunshine, spirits withering, we endured the blistering…
