This place is a drunken brawl short of a donnybrook on any given night, make a reservation. Cherish the moments in which you get service, because they are short on staff. Here's a mnemonic device to help you remember, at Chada service is nada. Short, kitschy and easily digestible, unlike their dehydrate fish chunks.
There are books near the entrance, but that is a ruse, because the sub-literate narcissists who haunt this establishment are for want of all that is cerebral, and choose to be mind-numbingly facile in their enjoyment of life and its pulchritude. Translation, the scourge of humanity dines here: yuppies, vulture capitalists, Daddy Warbucks' parasitic Hilton-esque daughters, foodies and just about anything who would make Peter Singer, were he dead, rollover in his grave.
The wine list is impressive, the curry is spicy (as it should be), and the prices are perfect for those trying to get rid of their Weimar dollars before they have too much to wipe their buttocks with come the next meltdown. I'm only kidding there.
Enjoy!