I had never been to a Hooters before, but I heard all the stories. All told it's a burger bar with a bevy of babes wearing short shorts and cut tees at your beck and call. So I was really skeptical when my friend (a huge fan of Hooters) invited me there for dinner.
And surprise: it is the burger bar of infamy. But Hooters is something else, too. It's a cultural time warp. A politically-incorrect bit of post-feminist machismo-meets-Americana gone amok. It's equal parts kitschy roadside attraction and wanna-be biker bar. Ultimately, Hooters is a place where junior college students and professional wait staff alike can make good tips right off-the-highway--without the use of dance pole or under the protection of a bouncer.
The food was below average. My burger was cooked to order, but without much care towards presentation. The fries were bland and a bit soggy. And my supposedly handcrafted, Oktoberfest-style beer was just okay. It could have been any mass-produced amber-colored ale on the market.
My friend ordered buffalo chicken strips. One of the specialties of the house and his favorite thing on the menu. It could have bat guano fried in 10W40 motor oil: he wasn't there for the food. He pretended to be interested in his order, but only when his eyes weren't following our order taker--a sophomore at the local state university, who did a tremendous job. (Despite her cartoon wardrobe, she was serious waitress.)
If you're looking for a burger chain, there are better ones around. But if you're looking for a way to bond with your buddy who can't get enough of the house special buffalo wings served with a soft porn sideshow, then this is the place.
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