For almost thirty years, several times a week, I have been driving by this place on my way food shopping, to the bank, to the airport for pick ups and drop offs, giving tours to house guests, and for almost every other errand saying to myself each time: we have to try it. Tom literally lived all his life minutes away from it.
Saturday was the day:
— We’re going to Duffy’s.
— To Duffy’s? Why?
— Have you been there?
— I don’t remember. Maybe.
— You took me there. And this place is always on my way no matter where I go. I can’t take it any more. What’s inside?
And a nice bar with a great food it was inside.
Chicken wings, my favorite, not too large that they don’t cook through, not too small that they dry out — just right — meat sliding off in one move leaving bones squeaky clean. And a house sauce with a perfect heat.
Legitimate pulled pork sliders with the bun so good that not sure what I liked better the meat or the bread.
We made side by side comparison of fresh and frozen fries. (Frozen didn’t make the picture — we were so hungry.) The verdict? We don’t know. Both were great. At least now we know the difference.
The burgers and nachos floated by us to other customers looked really nice. They have my other favorites on the menu — like fish and chips.
There were games to play and things to look at, the service easy and friendly.
And there’s an outdoor patio. What was I thinking all these thirty years?
