It was a cold spring night in Leicester. 1959. John (Lennon), Pete (Best), and I had just played a spine-tingling four-song romp at Valeria's Dance Hall. After the show, Ms. Valeria announced she couldn't pay us, but she could offer dinner. Bummed and a tad tipsy, we agreed. Ten minutes later she brought out the most delicious concoction I had ever feasted on. Pieces of chicken, a wing and a thigh to be exact, slobbered with an orange-red buffalo sauce. John and Pete weren't sold on them, but I knew I struck gold. In that moment I wanted to quit the band, and follow my passion of making wings. But George (Harrison) advised me to keep making music, work on the wings recipe on the side, and when I was ready share my wings with the world.

Well, world, I'm ready.

Welcome to Paul McCartney's Wings.