Seoul is home to its own distinct chicken wing style: centered around wings fried in a starch (often potato, tapioca, rice, or a combination), then tossed in either a sweet-sticky soy glaze or tangy red sauce made with gochujang chili paste and served alongside crisp pickled radish. Several Portland area restaurants specialize in this style, though none do it better than 1st Street Pocha, a late-night Korean pub in downtown Beaverton. Order both—they bounce off each other remarkably well, each bite of the sweet soy leading back to the spicy gochujang—and drink some imported Korean beer or makgeolli alongside the chicken. Everything here is electric, made all the better by the glowing evening city vibes of thriving downtown Beaverton. —Jordan Michelman

There is nowhere else in the city making wings quite like Akâdi, chef Fatou Ouattara’s lively West African dining room on SE Division. Her wings come three to an order, oversize bombardier-class whole wings best consumed alongside a longneck bottle of Nigeria’s own Star lager. There’s a hibiscus ginger version, and also wings “Nokoss” (a lovely green sauce with parsley, lemon, and garlic), but for me the Suya wings are a must. These feature Ouattara’s take on the iconic Nigerian suya spice blend, built around roasted powdered peanut, Grains of Selim pepper, and an undisclosed (perhaps closely guarded) blend of additional spices from the Ivory Coast. It’s served with a side of Akâdi’s cult pepper sauce, which is available by the bottle. I wish she sold the rub, too—an entire spice cabinet worth of sweet, hot complexity, every flavor rooted and amplified by the savory baseline brain-crash of crispy chicken and peanut. —JM

It couldn’t stay a secret forever. For years, the seemingly unremarkable corner store on NE Ninth and Alberta was a favorite for those in the know, regulars visiting daily and leaving the shop with white paper baggies dotted with fryer grease. Now, various influencers and media outlets (whoops) have spilled that Alberta Market slings some of the best undressed chicken wings in Portland. Full wings, lightly coated with a spiced breading, share display case real estate with fluffy bronze jojos. Don’t worry, nothing’s been sitting here long: These plump, juicy treats practically fly out the door, despite no longer being attached to birds. Get there early, before they sell out, and fill your own baggie with wings, jojos, and complimentary packets of ranch dressing. —Alex Frane

Korean fried chicken has a gochujang grip on the city. But Chimcking is the reigning chain. Straight from Daegu, South Korea’s third largest city, Chimcking has outposts in Beaverton and Hollywood. Both are super casual counter-service spots slinging platters of wings and frosted mugs of beer. The wings are your standard bone-in flats and drumettes, or served as boneless breaded morsels, and come either undressed or dipped in a choice of salty-sweet soy garlic or sweet and spicy gochujang sauce (for heat fiends, there’s also an extra spicy version). As at 1st Street Pocha, the expert move is a 50/50 order. No matter what you choose, all are reliably crackling-crisp, steaming, and juicy. —AF

One might argue it would be impossible to write a Portland wing guide without including Fire on the Mountain, the city’s foremost local wing chainlet. But I mention them not out of duty or obligation, but because the wings here are dependably good and predictably tasty. Not every wing joint needs to be flashy, or a discovery, or a revelation; sometimes you just want some wings, you know? FOTM nails the sauces—in particular the rotating monthly special—and the food and experience are remarkably consistent at all three locations. A predictable wing order is nothing to scoff at. In this topsy-turvy world, I’d argue wings you can set your watch to double as a form of municipal therapy. The inclusive vegan wing option here—soy chicken around a sugarcane bone—is especially good, as are the sweet potato fries. —JM

What began as a pop-up specializing in Jerry Benedetto’s Chicago tavern-style pizza is now an affable, working-class watering hole on the outskirts of Slabtown. Rather than pizza, Jerry’s is built on cheese curds and buffalo wings. Benedetto takes wings very, very seriously: The ones here are not too big, nor too small, dry-fried for a deep crunch, and drenched in a combination of Frank’s RedHot and no small amount of butter. A pitcher of Hamm’s will calm the heat of the buffalo version, as will a bite of the mellower BBQ option. Both are served with celery sticks and a choice of thick blue cheese or ranch. Don’t expect much help from the wet-nap hiding in the bottom of a paper tray, sopping with sauce before you’ve taken your first bite. —AF

You can’t help but root for LoRell’s Chicken Shack, a deeply felt love letter to the chicken wing traditions of Chicago. Windy City transplant Darell Preston—almost always at the counter—has opened a culinary wormhole between the Lloyd Center food court and Chicago’s Southside. Whole wings, breaded and fried, get drizzled—not tossed!—with a sweet-hot sauce similar to hot honey and powdered with a golden, tangy “wing dust.” They should be consumed immediately at one of the court tables to maximize the marvelous dichotomy between the crispy-crunchy crust, zippy-zingy sauce, and flavor-blasting powder. The fries are also excellent, hand-cut and irregular in the best way, ideal for soaking up a bit of that sauce. If you love breaded, fried wings, these are the city’s best, full stop. —JM

The bánh hỏi may be the star of the show at this bright and breezy Vietnamese café on North Williams, but the wings are a sleeper hit. They’re dredged in a mix of potato and tapioca starch (plus a bit of cornstarch), giving each flat and drumette that recognizably paper-thin coating of crackly, bubbly texture. And then there are the sauces: Portlanders still lamenting the demise of Pok Pok should reach straight for the fish sauce wings, abundant with funky, garlicky umami and a hint of sweetness. Other standouts include a sticky-sweet tamarind glaze and the honey lemon pepper wings, the latter mixing Vietnamese and Southern American influences into one cohesive, citrusy bundle. —AF

Inside an unassuming, family-owned teriyaki deli on this side of the Gresham-Portland border there is a little miracle to be found each day (except Sunday): dry-fried (unbreaded) wings tossed in sauces from mild to “volcano,” plus flavors like teriyaki, lemon pepper, and parmesan. They aren’t reinventing the wheel at Sandy Hot Wings Café, but the execution is flawless. A classic, chunky blue cheese sauce and a few carrot sticks for dipping round out each basket. A moment happens at the bottom of a mixed 10 piece—half teriyaki, half spicy buffalo—where the teriyaki sauce blends with the Frank’s RedHot in a way that seems emblematic of the whole enterprise: a comingling in a single bite of cross-cultural wing exchange. —JM

Classic Buffalo is the star of the wing menu at this divey sports bar at the Springwater Cart Park in deep Southeast. Sweet honey jerk, zingy lemon pepper, and garlicky teriyaki are plenty tasty, but the OGs, lightly dressed in Frank’s and butter, tie for fourth on the PDX Wing Guys favorites in all of the metro area, and for good reason. Less sauce means these fat and juicy wings hold onto their crispness even as you work your way through a stack of 20. If you’re worried about burning out, note the three spice-levels options. Don’t be fooled, though: even the medium skews mild. —AF

Tinker Tavern landed in Montavilla in 2020 with a clear sense of identity: a Buffalo Bills–focused sports bar with a Star Trek obsession and palpable neighborly vibes. It quickly earned attention for its chicken wings, hitting third place in the obsessive PDX Wing Guys’ city-wide ranking. The Tink’s secret? The wings are all prepared confit, slowly cooked in oil to tender, salty-savory oblivion before they’re flash fried crisp. The buffalo style hews close to its origins, a mix of Frank’s RedHot, butter, and other ingredients the staff refuses to divulge. The heat and acid hits your nose the second the basket lands on the table, but it’s mellowed by the chunky blue dip. During NFL games the bar goes through dozens, sometimes hundreds, of baskets; those averse to sporting events can hang out with Captain James T. Kirk instead. —AF