A fresh morning drizzle on Saturday either lended to or came from the heavy fog, priced by downtown Omaha’s few skyscrapers. The view from Cummings Street was thankfully unobstructed as I drove to the next restaurant on my list. It was not fair to my destination that in my Jetta’s passenger seat sat a grizzled veteran of the trade – a man who had lived long enough to garner and weed out many opinions about the food in Omaha,

Omaha has many religious places of worship, but only one Temple of Beauty. Windowless walls of pink Georgia-marble reach high into the air as if to both catch as much sunlight as possible while also protecting that which it both dearly covets, but also freely shares from its vaults. On an inscription that has been hewn by stonemasons of the 1930’s into the inner wall of the old entryway a quote – or maybe it’s a resolution lays bare the intentions of the builders:

Dear reader, writing this article was like going ten rounds with the boxing world heavyweight champion. Imagine this: There I was, thinking I had discovered the hardest thing to do when asked by a child to skip a rock across a loose pile of hay, when my editor Maggie interrupted me solemnly. “Austin, I know it's tough," she began while I froze up. Tension piled up inside me as she continued, “I need you to go try out the best wings in Omaha, at Tracks."