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| - When I walked through the swinging doors around noon on a Sunday, I walked into Hooterville. Think silicone, fake tans, bleached hair and teeth and caked-on makeup. And the men here overdose on testosterone: full of bulk and attitude. Think sideways baseball hats, torn jeans, flip flops and gold. Even at noon on a Sunday, they were on the hunt.
Joining me in alienation was my San-Franciscan friend. We represented the world of natural size and color. To bring ourselves comfort and escape in this fake world surrounding us, we discussed environmental concerns.
I got the Buffalo Chicken sandwich. Commensurate with the theme here, this was the biggest breast I'd ever seen. The sauce was super hot and tasty. The baked beans had a southwestern flare - with crushed pepper. My friend got the chili, which he said was slightly spicy hot but not temperature-hot.
I didn't attempt the bucking broncho, for many reasons, but one of them being that there was nothing on it to hold on to. Too difficult for a delicate northerner like me.
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