Hard to admit, but Chow, Baby had never heard the term “breastaurants” before last week. Never once been to a Hooters, not even “just for the famous wings.” Never been to Bone Daddy’s, either – not for fear of boobie bars (Chow, Baby’s old terminology), but scared off by the Hoot ‘n’ Hooty’s Cheese Dip ($6.79) and Real Good Chicky Salad ($8.79). Folksy-cute menu items tend to pal around with whimsy-on-the-walls décor, too-loud classic rock, hyper-perky staff, and BBQ out of a pressure-vac bag. That’s the debauched atmosphere that really offends Chow, Baby’s moral standards.
Chow, Baby now understands that breastaurants aren’t about the joy of eating, but it sure was perplexed last week on its visit to 3rd Base Sports Bar (812 Six Flags Dr., Arlington): Why is this place so crowded when the food is so bad? A sports bar should at least be able to do bar food, but 3rd Base’s cheeseburger ($7.99) was free of flavor or juice; crusty-in-the-wrong places potato skins ($7.99) must have been quadruple-baked. Glazed pork “wings” ($9.99) are a great idea if, like Chow, Baby, you enjoy picking up big hunks of pig meat with your hands and eating it right off the bone, but not when the meat’s dry, splintery shards stab the inside of your cheek. Be good for self-defense, though.
Chow, Baby was also bewildered by the waitresses’ outfits, which did expose a bit of cleavage and a lot of leg, but mainly called attention to the area in between, the vast naked expanse between bra-band and hipbone. This is the sexy area now? Hey, everybody’s welcome to their personal preference in objectified body parts, but the last thing Chow, Baby wants called to its attention while it’s scarfing a load of high-cal bar food is how flat and taut a stomach can be. Chow, Baby puzzled over this depressing juxtaposition, thinking about the waitresses’ outfits late into the night, and suddenly had an epiphany: That billboard on 183 for Twin Peaks (1700 N. Airport Fwy., Bedford), promoting its “scenic views”? Probably not a David Lynch theme restaurant.
Chow, Baby was right – and, this time, prepared: naked midriffs framing food that’s lousy and overpriced, but who cares. Actually this place isn’t so bad; for one, it really does have a Twin Peaks-ian hunting lodge feel, with rustic this and that and server-boobies barely contained by red-checked lumberjack hankies. No cherry pie, but fried pickles ($4.99) were nice and juicy. The Twin Peaks cheeseburger (“girl size” $6.95, “man size” $8.25) was only passable, but Chow, Baby was somewhat impressed with the ordered-for-name-only Enhanced Chicken Breasts ($11.25), topped with ham and cheese, smothered in a decent mushroom sauce, and paired with sautéed onions and frozen green beans. The side of mashed was studded with those telltale potato “pearls” that are supposed to fake you into thinking you’re eating homemade, but then no one really expects non-fake in a place like this.
What breastaurant customers do expect, as Chow, Baby observed after shifting its keenly inquisitive eye from belly buttons to the all-male, mostly middle-aged, blissfully drooling clientele, is the bare-ass minimum: a cold beer, a friendly face, a scenic view, and edible hot wings. On that scanty-panty scale, Twin Peaks is mountains of happiness, and 3rd Base hits a home run.
Contact Chow, Baby at chowbaby@fwweekly.com.
