The Bando serves “crack wings.” Yep, “crack wings.” If we’re being accurate, these wings ere more on the side of powder cocaine than crack rock. I’m getting ahead of myself.
The Bando is a wing spot in west Atlanta housed in a strip mall like most good restaurants are. Their website describes them as, “Atlanta’s one-stop shop for food, art and culture!” I found them from their ridiculous Instagram videos and the mounds of white powder heaped over their wings.
Ok, let’s talk about the so-called crack. The first thing to know is that whenever there’s crack, the CIA ain’t far behind. So, watch your back. If there’s a white guy in there who uses too much slang he doesn’t understand, don’t answer his questions. Second, I’m pretty sure this crack is powdered sugar mixed with ranch powder. The powdered sugar was obvious, not just by sight, but by taste too–these were some of the sweetest wings I’ve ever had. But there was something else floating around under the sugary sweetness. The flecks of chive mixed in the powdered sugar gave it away. That and the surprising ranchiness of the otherwise ranchless wing. Underneath all the sugar and ranch, the lemon pepper sauce I ordered just got lost. The crack wing experience is unique, but if you’re a wing guy, I’d go without.
Because without is just as worth it. These wings were as crispy as a brit vacationing in Boca. The thin breading shattered when I bit into each wing, even after a five minute drive and ten minute walk to a secluded eating spot where I could gorge myself and pass out on a park bench.
But the Bando isn’t just a wing joint, it’s set up to be an experience. The first thing you notice walking up from the parking lot are the rules posted on the window of the store. For example, rule 68: “Contrary to ATL belief, ain’t no hoes in the Bando.” Now, I’m not saying they were lying, but based on the clientele when I walked in I’m not sure that’s true. I’m not saying there were hoes in the Bando, I didn’t solicit a concrete answer, I’m just saying there was at least a chance that there were hoes in the Bando.
I’ll save you the Google search. “Bando” is a slang term for abandoned houses that are repurposed to sell drugs. It's similar to a trap house, but more run down. I think. The inside of the Bando looks like one.
There are two couches set in a corner of the store to look a living room. There’s a rug and a coffee table, too. And a lot of junk. I shouldn’t be so dismissive–it wasn’t all junk. A lot of the stuff looked like curated items, black culture of the 90s and 2000s. Movies like White Chicks and Friday were displayed in a proud arrangement of the store’s extensive DVD collection. Vinyl Albums from Omarion, Lil Romeo, and Lil Bow Wow were displayed on one of the sofas. There were multiple references to Cartoon Networks shows from my childhood. A Cat-Dog stuffed animal on the coffee table and Plank from Ed, Edd, and Eddy strewn on a side table.
There was also a lot of random junk. The center of the display was dominated by a shopping cart filled to the brim with stuff a dumpster diver might dig out. The windows were covered with plywood and there was graffiti on the wall. A clothes line cut across the space, holding up a pink bra, a jean skirt, silk negligee, and a shirt advertising a joint Chris Brown/Bow Wow tour.
I think I get it. The display. The exhibition? The Bando bills itself as Atlanta’s only free, black owned museum, so the set up must have been some kind of art exhibition. Like those exhibits where the whole room is the art work. If I’m going to put my art critic hat on, I’d say that I think the Bando is trying to connect the artistic and cultural contribution of black folks with the spaces and realities they often come from.
Struggle is a common theme across a lot of black contemporary art. Hip Hop, for example, was born out of struggle. Yet even after huge commercial success and world wide proliferation, the communities that create the art still struggle. The Bando uses absurdity to point that out. The crack wings, the trap house art display, the crazy marketing, and even the name are all intended to highlight an absurd reality black people are accustomed to: they make the most lucrative art and still get stuck in the trap.
It also might be just for vibes.
I feel a little weird talking about the Bando. I had a good time. I ate good food and enjoyed myself. But me covering it feels… I don’t think I’m the best introduction.
For a certain person, a wing store set up to look like a trap house is going to reinforce every negative stereotype of black people. To those guys, there’s no artistry going on here. There’s no artistry in hip hop or in Under Cover Brother or Basquiat. If their first encounter with the Bando is through the judgment of another white person, that will give them even more permission to judge it themselves.
I didn’t do the whole art critic bs just to do it. I did it in an attempt to engage with work on the maker’s terms. I could be cynical and write off the idea that the Bando is a museum just by looking at it. I could roll my eyes and decide the whole thing is just goofy marketing. I could keep my world small and expected, but that’s just so f***ing boring.
Because I could see that the Bando was that it wasn’t for me from the jump. I was welcome. I was treated with respect and given good service. But they did not create the Bando for me. They are not catering to my taste, perspective or experience. They created the Bando for their community, as a reflection of their art, taste, perspective and experience. In response, I could shut down. I could retreat into comfortable cynicism–not risk the condemnation of the its-not-that-deep crowd. And maybe they’re right, maybe it’s not that deep, bro. But, like I said, shallowness is boring. Curiosity is always more fun.
The benefit of going to places like the Bando is not trying to bend it to fit you, but trying to bend yourself to fit it.