There's a certain grace to eating a chicken wing well. A real chicken-wing connoisseur will basically invisibly vacuum up his or her wings. You'll be sitting there, and you'll think you're talking, and they will have wings, and then suddenly they will not, they will have bones. It is an art, it is a skill, it is a nifty bit of work. What is not readily apparent to the novice wing-o-phile, however, is that a real chicken-wing connoisseur surrounds him--or herself with only the very best wings, wings that fall from their bones with a speed and ease that a summer popsicle would envy. Arnellia's serves those wings. Big as other restaurants' chicken quarters, full as open sunflowers, the skin as crunchable as puffed rice, the meat as tender as a smile.