Definitely not hiding it under a bushel

It’s not unusual for siblings to share a hobby. The Osmonds sing and dance, the Browns play their instruments, and the Mannings throw footballs. I would like to say that the Preobrazhensky children are known for oil painting or something cool like that, but the truth is that our collective talent is eating. And we are very, very good at it.

In fact, we are so passionate about our hobby that if you spend at least half an hour with my brothers and sisters you will undoubtedly find the conversation turning to topics like the new sushi restaurant downtown, the superiority of homemade ranch dressing to the store-bought variety, or the mystery of people that “forget to eat” or are “too busy to have lunch” (my brother-in-law made such a statement once, and we all looked at him like he was a visiting martian).

We all differ a little in our tastes- Helen hates Mexican cuisine, Smash and Smeegs love their burgers a little more than the rest of us- but one food is a definite favorite with everyone: wings. Specifically Winger’s wings, because apparently something about that spicy yet sweet sauce just makes our collective taste buds rejoice.

Once a year Winger’s has a special promotion: all-you-can-eat wings for ten bucks. If you haven’t guessed already, it’s our kind of event; a chance to really showcase our talent for the world to see. For years now fall has meant not only changing leaves and cool weather, but my brothers and sisters and I stuffing ourselves with wings until we swear that we are never eating them again, only to return eagerly the next year.

Here is a photo tour of last year’s dinner. Wingfest 2009 is happening this week. I can’t wait.

The crowd last year. We missed Dema (as we will again this year-stupid grad school), but Colton and Logan made very good substitutes:
The first time we went to Winger's Smash ate not 10, not 20, but 24 wings in one sitting. I knew then that I was truly in the presence of greatness:
Lots of ranch is a necessity:

Unless you are a wing purist like Butch:

Smeegs trying not to get the wings stuck in his braces:

Alex's first wing. The year before he was content just to dip his whole hand in Ranch dressing and lick it clean. Definitely his mother's child:

The aftermath. We are truly everything that is wrong with this country. Notice how we didn't waste valuable stomach space on the starchy french fries and popcorn, though. Dr. Atkins would be proud: