It seems appropriate to defer to an expert here. There is little disparity between wings — the best aren't all that much better than the worst. And we happen to prefer Hooters' plump cuts, which are dusted with flour and deep-fried, soaked with a sharp sauce, nothing more. Yes, keep it simple, stupid. Problem is, to enjoy those pieces you have to go to Hooters. Our expert: actor John Travolta, whose puffy gut suggests he knows how to handle a knife and fork. Or, in this case, his fingers. The Scientologist/pilot/dancer always pops into Tom's when he visits Miami. He doesn't do so for the many high-def TV sets, or the noisy ambiance, or the bar-food menu. He does so for the chicken wings, which come by the dozen ($7.95), "special grilled" or with a traditional but zingy sauce in hot, medium, or mild. Turns out ol' John is a pretty nice guy, down to earth and something of an aviation groupie. He hangs out with members of the airline trade, and he packs away the tasty wings at this airport-adjacent institution. These tidbits meet all the qualifications of winning wings — meaty pieces, perfectly dusted, nice and juicy — and ascend on the strength of that homemade sauce, which sends Mr. Travolta, and everyone else, right to the cooling celery and bleu cheese dressing. As well as a couple of ice-cold brews — unless you're scheduled to fly.