The decidedly un-Tucson northwest side is the home to a new wing joint called Native New Yorker. I could barely tell you how to get back to the restaurant or really where it is at all besides, “up there somewhere.” Native New Yorker is a chain from Phoenix that has trickled down to us here in Tucson (almost all the way, Marana). Sta talked it up something big so I agreed to accompany her and her husband on the four hour drive up to Marana.
Native New Yorker is elegantly decorated with flat screen televisions. Seriously, there were tons of them. Luckily one, or seven, of them was playing the St. Louis at Pittsburgh game that went into extra innings. Native New Yorker has a huge menu, longer than most of the Vonnegut novels. This is almost always a bad sign. A long menu usually means that the restaurant can’t do anything especially well so they’ve giving you as many options as possible.
I tried a couple of each kind of wing they offered save the mild, medium and pineapple teriyaki. Pineapple teriyaki sounds like the worst idea for a wing until I tried the hot strawberry and raspberry chipotle that Native New Yorker also offers. I was intrigued enough to give the last two a shot but really wished I hadn’t. The hot strawberry was covered in strawberry jam. What? That’s right, you heard me, strawberry jam. Gross as it sounds, folks, gross as it sounds. The raspberry chipotle fared a little better but still an abomination. Another loser was the suicide wings. When I ate one at Native New Yorker, the flavor was vinegar and bong resin. By the time I got it home, Eric deemed the flavor, patchouli. The hot barbecue and honey hot were pretty good, just passable really.
Native New Yorker also featured what looked like bland sandwiches and tasteless pizzas. Perhaps they’ve only recently opened this location, I’m not sure but it really seems like they have a few bugs to work out. I give Native New Yorker 5 really grody jam covered hot wings.