Why should you consider visiting Buffalo in the Winter?
I am a firm believer in being determined to not allow the “seasonality” of a place to control the conversation or appeal of experiencing it. Sure, the idea of a warm beach sounds nice in the winter. But is that all we are really seeking? The seduction of ‘warmth’ or comparative comfort to lead us to a place?
Yes, of course, that is all some people are seeking. However, the adventure traveler is basically the exact opposite of a “snowbird”. We do not flee places with unpleasant circumstances and towards those that will allow us to simply relax.
And maybe that means we want to venture way, way north to see what there is to discover in the Winter. Given current travel restrictions and risks, I’ve been thrilled by the challenge of exploring some of the lesser-visited places in New York, and Buffalo kept popping up in my mind. I had been hearing so many things- Buffalo is bikable! Great brewery scene! Nice people! Wings! Really comes alive in summer!
But I wasn’t going to let the threat of a little cold push this destination further down on this year’s travel itinerary. After all, we can wait for the pandemic to be over, for the Western Hemisphere to be warmer, for a better time or reason to go… or we can choose to not wait. So I encourage you to go to a place without waiting for the tilt of the sun to tip its hat to you. I recommend that you let perceived seasonal restrictions be damned. I challenge you visit Buffalo in Winter.
And thus I’ll show you how to do it.
Skip to:
Big Ditch Brewery
Ballyhoo Buffalo
Niagara Falls
Gabriel’s Gate
K-Art Gallery
The Dapper Goose
Buffalo Central Terminal
West Side Bazaar
Eagle House Restaurant
Serenity Salt Cave
Las Puertas Buffalo
Schwabl’s
What to Pack
- A Winter Coat
- Layering Elements
- Winter Boots
- Scarf, Gloves, Hat
- Attractive Sweaters
- Positive Attitude
- Realization that you’ve never really tested your “cold-weather” gear
How To Get To Buffalo (in the Winter or otherwise)
After a fairly easy 6-hour car ride heading North, we watched the minutes to our destination lessen as the menacing barometer in the rental also dropped drastically- 27 degrees colder than the Brooklyn we left behind. However, with the confidence that our coats were made for more aggressive temperatures than a balmy 34-degree winter, and that our hearts were eager to see just what we were made for. Winter in New York meant so much more than just the city.
What to Do on a Winter Visit to Buffalo
Day 1
Big Ditch Brewery and Ballyhoo
When we first arrive in a place, we often like to visit some very “local” spots to chat with bartenders and get recommendations for the next few days. Our first choices? Big Ditch Brewery and Ballyhoo. And let me tell you, they warmed us right up.
Big Ditch Brewery
55 E Huron St.
Inspired by the building of the Erie canal, which put Buffalo on the map and also symbolizes the grassroots pride of the area, this brewery is covered in old photos, murals, and highlighted with their signature “shovel” tap handles that kept covering our tracks all over town.
There was a palpable sense of pride here, in the area and also in the product. After a longish drive, we were welcomed by the warmth of the bartender, the feeling of “strength, pride, ambition” dug from the foundation of the area and written all over the mural walls, and the confidence in every beer they are brewing.
This feeling of excavated discovery was easily palpable. We dug it.
After chatting with the bartender about what was on tap, we chose the Berry Vision sour and a winter seasonal chocolate porter.
As we sipped, the conversation on the other side of the bar flowed easily regarding places we should add to our “must-see” list. We also talked about the lack of freedom of movement we’d all been suffering from given the current circumstances- we had perhaps chosen the farthest in-state location we could safely visit without quarantining. The bartender told us she realized her 2-hour drive to visit Vermont the next weekend would be met with 4-days of quarantining on both ends. Our 6-hour drive seemed comparatively reasonable, and our escape all the more appreciated.
We finished our beers and trudged over the snowdrifts to get back into our rental car and drove 1.5 snowy miles to Ballyhoo.
Buffalo Ballyhoo
211 South Park Ave
Our dinner and cocktail destination of the evening was this charming little local spot that just happened to be around the corner from the Keybank Center where the Sabres faced the Islanders for the evening. Because allowing any capacity of indoor sports spectators was still a week away, this place was bustling with energy despite the hometown team’s record.
We settled in just in time as the place filled up to its COVID-restricted 50% capacity. The crowd was energized and thirsty, and we found it so refreshing to see bartenders “in the weeds”, owning their drink tickets, their space, and recognizing the reward of pushing through orders with speed and precision. These guys were killing it.We soon realized the secret behind their speedy executions- a little something called “Jam Sessions”.
Jam Sessions are clever concoctions that started at Ballyhoo- you choose the jam + spirit combination, they shake it up and pour you a libation that ingeniously requires no juicing, no syrup production, just jams and spirits. We chose the bartender-recommended strawberry and rye combination along with a tequila and apricot mash-up. Both were delicious and warranted a second round, and paired decently with our selections from their small (but lacking nothing) sausage-heavy menu.
Our selections included the Short Round (Korean short rib with kimchi, samba, and pickled vegetables), the Steak House (seasoned beef with creamed spinach, garlic, parmesan crisp, and pickled shallots), and their highly-recommended mac and cheese which did not disappoint.
When the bartender recognized our industry-roots (they’re hard to hide) we struck up a conversation and soon had a hand-written note of Buffalo recommendations delivered along with two shots of tequila.His recs included Las Puertas (our reservations had been made for the last night in town), Billy Club (highly recommended for cocktails!), And a dive bar called “Old Pink” a place he told us we should definitely go- “It’s an institution here and a great dive bar but just really, really… divey.”
He admitted to us that he’d met his ex-wife there. “Never marry a girl you meet at the Pink,” he advised, raising his shot glass in the air to ours.
Let’s just say when we left we no longer recognized the cold. Thanks, Ballyhoo!
Day 2
Niagara Falls, The K-Art Gallery, and Dapper Goose
I highly recommend choosing your sunniest day to visit Niagara. For us, this was the second day of our trip- full sun, 32 degrees, and a mostly-frozen falls.
What to Expect during a visit to Niagara Falls in the Winter
We didn’t realize just how majestic and rare this experience was until we noticed local and national news sources there to photograph the Falls and said photos’ subsequent appearance virtually everywhere (link to news sources). The “frozen” falls (and the backs of our coats!!) had gone viral.
While the Canada side (as we were told, “the fun side!”) of the falls were closed due to the pandemic, we made the best of the good old ‘Merica side of things. As fun as it looked, we appreciated that we weren’t tempted to lose money at the casinos that stared back at us from the other side of the divide. We were having fun! And keeping our money safe.
We opted for the Cave of the Winds winter experience that brings you down 40 “floors” into the stone cliffside and just below the falls. The ice formations and sun-induced rainbows were magnificent- and there’s no better word for it. We were blown away by this rare glimpse at a mostly-frozen falls and the sheer beauty that ice can create.
Back atop the falls, the frozen vapor in the air covered everything in its path with a coating of sparkling ice. Despite the wind, we stayed about 2 hours exploring and observing this natural wonder. And somehow, we didn’t notice the cold until we got back into the car and felt the slight numbness in our fingers and toes.
And, a rumbling for lunch in our tummies.
Wings at Gabriel’s Gate
145 Allen St.
We did our best to research what would be the most authentic wings experience in Buffalo. And while our choice was proven to be right, we were also immediately educated on the whole “wing thing” in Buffalo.
Read below on how not to seem like tourists while eating wings in Buffalo.
- It’s not ‘Buffalo Wings’- according to them, there’s no such things. Just wings.
- Do not ask for ranch. There is Bleu Cheese or nothing.
- Wings should be washed down with a “Blue Light” which is not considered an import here.
- No one cares that you worked at Buffalo Wild Wings in high school. Especially not the bartender.
Once we got over the fact that it was very apparent we were tourists (usually something NYC dwellers are quick to point out in other people), we struck up a conversation with the bartender. A native Buffalonian, she talked to us about the changes she’d seen in the quaint (but lively) neighborhood of Allentown we found ourselves in. “There are 22 bars and restaurants within three blocks”, she told us- and only about a quarter of them have reopened. She’s hopeful once restrictions lift further that the neighborhood will come back, but it’s hard to say.
That desperate feeling of the forgotten vitality that the bar and restaurant industry brings to a city sat heavy with us, as it had for the past year. While we were so happy to have made the trip to Buffalo, what would we have found if we’d come, say, in 2019?
The bartender also wasn’t shy on recommendations for us. And once again, the colorful dive bar The Pink popped back up. Considering the annoying prevalence of “Millenial Pink” that had recently infiltrated NYC, I couldn’t get a certain image out of my head for this quirky bar until she went into more detail. “It’s a block from here. There isn’t a sign outside or anything, just a psychedelic mural on the outside that’s in disrepair. It never looks like it’s open but it always is. My sister-in-law works there,” she told us. She briefly touched on the crowd, which varies significantly depending on the time you visit. “There’s this group of middle-aged women who meet there on Tuesdays and drink and watch soap operas. The General Hospital Crew, they call themselves. They have rules about when to drink and it gets pretty rowdy,” she laughed.
A fellow patron who overheard the conversation chimed in. “One good thing about the Pink is that if you’ve ever been to the bathroom there, you’re completely immune to COVID and pretty much anything else,” she laughed. Stumbling into the Pink certainly felt more accessible than getting a vaccine appointment in the city…
We pondered this as we ate our wings and shoveled around an enormous portion of poutine washed down with Blue Lights and a round of complimentary Jameson shots. It was apparent we were tourists, sure, but the bartenders in us could always overcome any additional stigmas. We were all in this together.
Our tour to find authenticity continued as we sought a little culture to lighten up the fried food we’d just consumed.
Visit to the K-Art Gallery
808 Main St.
We headed back to Elmwood Village for a visit to the K-Art Gallery. The prevalence of Native American history and heritage in the area was palpable, and we kept hearing about this gallery that was dedicated to increasing visibility to contemporary Native American Art. Plus, it was right down the street from our Airbnb.
We were not permitted to take photos inside but admired how well the gallery allowed you to experience the art. Pieces and installations were situated next to seating areas and bright windows to allow you to sit among the art. While some of the messaging was intended to make viewers feel slightly uncomfortable, it was refreshingly eye-opening to give these artists and people the opportunity to command our attention. The art was imaginative, perhaps providing a vision into the potential this oppressed culture could have if given the freedom to roam. We were visibly moved and especially struck by the bright palettes and rich textures that highlighted the space. It felt like the perfect balance to the rather low-brow gravy-french-fries we’d just spent time experiencing.
We walked back to our Airbnb to refresh for what we knew would be a rather dapper dining experience.
Dinner at The Dapper Goose in Buffalo
491 Amherst St.
Walking into the Dapper Goose brought us back to what it felt like to have a proper dining experience- you know, before the pandemic ruined restaurants of any sense of ambiance for an entire year. The lighting was low and mostly candlelit, the interior warm and intentionally minimalist- which felt a bit sparse given the restrictions at the moment, but let us imagine the dining room full of life and energy and even more rich smells than flooded our senses upon entry.
We knew we were lucky to get one of the few available reservations that night. We settled in.
The menu changes often, but there are certain favorites with a permanent place on the table and in the hearts of Buffalonians. Namely, the Korean Fried Chicken. Even if you’ve had a wing-tastic lunch, do not skip this.
We also chose the Beet Cured Salmon (avocado espuma, chilis, pickled onion), the mushrooms (farro, fennel, dash, poached egg), the aforementioned chicken, and the budino for dessert (maple pudding, miso caramel, chocolate biscotti). Every intentional and nuanced flavor made this dining experience such an immense delight.
While perhaps wine pairings are recommended, couldn’t pass-up the cocktails we’d heard so much about. We tried the Broken Garden Tools, the Our Circus Days Are Over, and the Sloe Your Roll. The names were clever and the combinations imaginative- Gin with celery and Moroccan spice! Tequila and Mezcal with Bruto! Sloe gin with Cocchi Rosa!The bartender gave us an off-menu digestif- Amaro Dell Etna, a rare bottle neither we nor the bartender had seen previously but ended the experience a touch of Italian elegance.
Normally, our night would have likely ended late-night at a bar, but due to, you know, the pandemic, it ended with red wine and a rousing game of Sequence back at the Airbnb. The pandemic has made us all into dorks, but whatever.
We were thankful to turn in early considering the next day’s plans.
Day 3
Buffalo Central Terminal, West Side Bazaar, Eagle House Tavern, Serenity Salt Cave, Las Puertas
We’ve always recognized that it’s the stories from the people who live in a place that truly color a destination, and the passion that was shared with us on our last day in town made us truly understand and embrace this place. This day started in a cavernous, empty space, wearing hard hats and imagining the days of Buffalo’s bustling past. And I don’t mean pre-pandemic- I mean back to the 1930s.
Buffalo Central Terminal
495 Paderewski Drive
Closed indefinitely for restoration.
Being a resident of New York City for the past 10 years means that my curiosity is never satiated, only enhanced with every step I take outside of my apartment. And that is what led me to be a relative enthusiast of Guastavino tile. I have been trying for years to figure out a way to access the closed subway station beneath City Hall to admire one of the best examples of his unique archways but recognized that this would require some pretty acute timing and footwork lest ending in myself being claimed by train, rats, or the third rail…
Upon further research into his work, Buffalo’s defunct Central Terminal felt a little more accessible. Noting my enthusiasm, I was connected with Monica, the Executive Director of the massive restoration and someone who unintentionally put my tile curiosity in its right place- there was so much more here than this Spaniard’s grout.
The terminal itself is on the East side of town, a seemingly forgotten area set apart from the heart of what feels like the city’s “revival” but in an area that has drawn a strong presence from Buffalo’s immigrant community- driving through you see mostly signs in Arabic and Spanish and a diverse collection of people who now call the city home. This diversity is one of the most important aspects to the revival of the Terminal, according to Monica- she embraces the challenge of getting to know the community, of gaining their trust, and of learning what would be a useful transition for the space.
This “space” rises above the neighborhood, an absolutely massive presence that reflects what Buffalo used to be. Traditionally, train stations were the first message that travelers and visitors would receive about the city- and this one was grandiose, courageous, bold, and a little disorienting.
And now it sits alone and empty, save for the collection of volunteers (please read that part again- volunteers) that were determined not to see another part of Buffalo’s sparkling history turn to dust.
There was, however, a lot of dust that had built up as we secured our hard hats and followed Monica through the entrance and into the terminal (please note that no photos were permitted inside). Save for our echoes and a few lost birds, the cavernous main concourse was silent. As our tour guide pointed out the old signs- a shoeshine, a gift shop, luggage storage, and the stunning and formerly bustling restaurant. I noticed the old boards with flipping numbers that would communicate arrivals and departures to passengers and their loved ones- the clicking sound that would inevitably spark the heartbeats of lovers about to be reunited- my imagination went wild with the stories that had passed through this very space.
Monica’s face lit up as she told us about the stories that resurfaced as the restoration began, stories of immigrants first arriving to the United States, of soldiers returning from war to their families and of those who left through this station to never return, accounts of men getting down on one knee on the marble floor to ask a very important question- moments frozen in time.
She was beaming as she described to us the double-paned windows that reflected and refracted sunlight, an element of the restoration that was filled with both pain and pride as these types of windows simply did not exist anymore. However time-consuming or financially restraining the restoration of the massive archways of windows was, they would not be destroyed.
There was a brass clock that seemed to be the central element of the concourse, and Monica told us that it had been sold off by the former owner of the terminal. It had been missing for over 20 years before it was recovered at an antique store by someone with a discerning eye and perhaps a memory of the glory days gone by in this space.
The clock sat boldly, not ticking but marking time. It somehow embodied the patience and passion of the project.
As we removed our hard hats and walked back out into the snowy afternoon, Monica pointed toward the tracks. “Look!” She said. A cargo train was passing through. “I love it when you see the train go by.” Even though it no longer stops, it somehow makes you feel the magic of what this place once was.
Oh, and, the tile work was beautiful.
As we drove away, we were filled with wonder and also a bit of hunger for what we would discover next.
Lunch at the West Side Bazaar
25 Grant St.
At every turn, Buffalo had been so much more than we expected. So when our lunch plans came with a side of relentlessly inspiring stories of refugees finding community, opportunity, and safety within an unassuming space in an outdated strip mall, I somehow wasn’t surprised.
I first heard of the West Side Bazaar through this snippet on NPR 6 years ago. But to have Mike, the Executive Director at the Bazaar, invite us in and slowly allow the stories to unfold before us within a space filled with flavors, textures, and smiling faces from all over the world was a hell of a lot better than the podcast version.
Mike himself came to Buffalo after spending a few years in NYC trying to break into the music management scene. Moving here to get his master’s degree, what he didn’t expect was to find a city that felt like a community. While he currently is one of the main music promoters in the city (he books all the talent at Nietzsche!), his day job comes in this colorful business incubator for refugees with talent and ambition, but who lack the place and opportunity to explore it.
He walked us past artisan booths with stories of schools bombed by ISIS, a monastery burned during a revolution, of the complete loss of records and proof of education, of “anti-government” accusations that led to the need for immediate asylum.
Each story of endless pain and loss was juxtaposed by an original product laced with palpable hope. From Burmese arts and crafts to Iraqi macrame (with lessons!), Vietnamese fashion, Sri Lankan home decor, and Rwandan jewelry.
As we circled around to the market area, we were met with exotic smells and smiling faces, with menus highlighted with foods we’d never heard of and our own rumbling stomachs ready to test them all.
Mike introduced us to every business owned and filled our hearts with their stories while addressing a few of the “chefs” in their own native language. It was apparent how much he rooted for their success. “They’re not supposed to stay long,” Mike told us, mentioning the especially popular booths that had now “graduated” and owned their own restaurants in town, while he also recognized the immense waitlist they have for applicants.
Pataya Street Food 
Nine & Night Thai Cuisine 
Abyssinia Ethiopian Cuisine 
Rakhapura Shop 
007 Chinese Dim Sum 
Thang’s Family Japanese Ramen
We met refugees-turned-entrepreneurs who now owned their own homes, had started families, and truly felt supported and protected in this Western New York City.
While our hearts were full, we were, of course, still hungry. “I’ll point out my favorite thing from every booth,” he told us- and not far behind, we selected every recommendation and sat down to a worldly smorgasbord of flavors.
Our selection of dishes included Bagan Partha, the Bao 007, Rakhaing Mutee Soup, an Ethiopian Vegetable Platter, Malaysian Pork Ramen, Thai Beef Salad, and a bright purple bubble tea.
As we indulged in this feast of flavors, Mike couldn’t help but divulge his passion for this city, its people, and the opportunity he himself has found within the West Side Bazaar. “I felt I could make a difference here,” he told us.
It was so apparent what a profound impact his discovery of this city had on so many families.
Eagle House Restaurant
5578 Main St. Williamsville, NY
We drove to Williamsville to get to our next destination (which I’ll get to in a minute) and jumped at the chance to have a drink at the Eagle House Tavern before our appointment. This was a place we had heard a lot about (from my dad!), stating that it was one of the best restaurants in the area, and had been since the early 1800s.
Within just 10 minutes of sitting at the bar, it was apparent as to why this place had such staying power. Not one person who entered the restaurant wasn’t greeted by name, and more often than not, had a drink being poured for them before sitting down. The bartender and manager spoke with each customer as if they were old friends, and the space felt warm and united despite the COVID-induced partitions at the bar.
The bartender quickly made us feel like regulars, letting us know it was 1/2 off bottles of wine that day, and before long, had poured us free tequila shots. At this point, we were getting very warm, and not just by the stunning brick fireplace that lined the dining room. We loved feeling like a part of this local gem and the recommendations that the bartender offered without hesitation.
We especially appreciated that we only suffered some slightly raised eyebrows when we let them know we had to leave to get to our appointment at the local Salt Cave. “The what?” The bartender asked us, who was a native Western New Yorker… As I tried to explain, he offered us another shot, I assume because we all could at least agree that salt and tequila were a proper pairing, and also gave us a 4-pack of WNY-made beer as we left.
I already felt us becoming regulars at this cozy local spot.
Serenity Salt Cave
2070 Eggert Rd. Amherst, NY 14226
Ok so hear me out. We were searching for a sauna experience to warm up our wintry visit and while there was apparently an old bathhouse in town called “The Schvitz” it seemed that no one had any information about it- not even when we called and emailed quite a few times. As I researched other options in the area, I found more than a few “salt caves” which, to me, made perfect sense.
I didn’t know what a salt cave was but I had learned that the Erie Canal was used to transport most of the country’s salt during the early 20th century, and Buffalo was a city that grew from the commerce generated by the canal.
I also knew that the most important element of “weck”, Buffalo’s signature bread, was the chunky salt (ok, and caraway seeds). So it seemed that a Salt Cave was something very sensible to experience when in Buffalo.
It seemed I was very wrong about this when I realized that none of the locals we met even knew these things existed. However, in we went, fully-clothed and barefoot, into a cave made entirely of large pink Himalayan salt rocks. The ground was covered in a thick layer of course salt, and there was some sort of salty air being pumped into the space. There were a series of lounge chairs and we each had our own blanket. We were instructed not to leave nor open the door “until our session was complete” because our bodies wouldn’t get the full benefits of the experience. So, we sat. We lounged. We dug our feet around in the salt. We inhaled the salty air. One of us may have licked the walls, just to check that they were in fact salty. And when our experience was over, we felt… well, warm and relaxed.
And to be honest, ready for a bit more tequila. Which was convenient considering our dinner plans…
Dinner at Las Puertas
385 Rhode Island St.
There are some dining experiences that you truly never forget. Which is not something that I expected to say regarding my trip to Buffalo.
This unforgettable experience began when my reservation was confirmed via email not as an electronic response from Resy, but by a man named Victor Parra Gonzalez… who I recognized as the chef and owner of the restaurant, and also a James Beard award semi-finalist.
Could he really be confirming reservations?
When we arrived at the stunning, modernist dining space, Victor personally greeted us and showed us to our table. He introduced himself, asking if we had any food allergies. He let us know that he had selected every plate on tonight’s 5-course meal before leaving to shake a round of margaritas (hold the salt, please!).
And what happened over the next 2 hours was nothing short of pure magic.
Victor and another colleague worked together to orchestrate every plate and moment. We saw him signal when our savory churro should be plated and delicately topped with cheese. He passionately described the market-fresh bruschetta as he opened a blended bottle of Garnacha, Carignan, and Mourvedre. He explained to us how he created the lightly fried and layered potato number that was far more delicate than any spud formation I’d previously experienced. He poured the soup into the aqua-chile, personally torched the halibut, and dusted our desserts with crumbled hazelnuts.
Note that we were not the only patrons in the restaurant, and he did not know I would be writing this piece.
The care and passion that Chef Victor has for food, flavor, creativity, and service are truly unmatched. As he poured us each a copita of mezcal at the end of the night, he explained how important the community has been to his success in the three years since Las Puertas first opened its doors.
He mentioned that he had wanted to open a restaurant in Manhattan, and after years of trying to find a way, he began exploring other cities. Buffalo felt like it was affordable, approachable, had a budding food scene that was attracting attention, and most of all, the people ready for an ambitious new experiment. And more than anything, they were welcoming and warm. “I would have never been able to do this in Manhattan,” he told us.
He also instructed us on the proper way to sip mezcal. “It kills me when I see people shoot mezcal- this takes about 15 years to make, and then in one second, it’s gone?” He explained, “The copita is not a shot glass- it’s wider and made from the earth where the agave grows. You can taste the earth as you sip.”
He also showed us how to dip a finger into the copita and rub the mezcal between your thumb and forefinger, letting it warm up as you smell all of the life within the spirit. “If you slow down, you can appreciate that these good things take time,” he told us.
Which was apparent in every inch, every plate, every intention behind the doors of Las Puertas.
As we left back into the cold night, our hearts were filled with the unbelievable passion and dedication Chef Victor has to his craft and this magical space on Rhode Island street.
Day 4
A Stop at Schwabl’s On Our Way out of Town
Even with a bag of leftovers from the Bazaar in the back seat, we couldn’t leave Buffalo without one more signature culinary experience- Beef on Weck and a Tom + Jerry.
Schwabl’s
789 Center Rd.
We took a detour to hit Schwabl’s before we got on the road to get our final fill of Buffalo’s cuisine. Another city relic that was just as bustling as it must have been back in 1837, the place was full within 10 minutes of opening with others waiting alongside us in the parking lot. We went inside to pick up our selected sandwich and added a hot Tom + Jerry to go with it.
Behind the bar/counter, we watched as an older man sliced bright red, rare beef and piled thin layers onto a salted caraway seed bun that had been previously dipped in the meat juice. This wasn’t some sort of glamorous “open kitchen” mind you, but there was no need to keep up with the times. This place knew what they were doing and people loved it.
Their signature Tom + Jerry cocktail came from a bowl of thick “batter” on the counter that was scooped into a cup along with hot water, brandy, and rum added with a vigorous stir.
Their unwillingness to change was refreshing, and it was clear that their approach worked. No need to evolve.
We left Buffalo with more than a few connections in the city and the promise to return in the summer. Or, you know, perhaps we’ll wait until next winter.
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