Burgers, With a Side of Exploitation

There isn't a plethora of restaurants near our house.  (Or would it be "aren't"?  Is plethora plural perhaps?) We only eat out about once a week, but suffer from a lack of options. Which is why we end up at Chuy's so much.  Every freakin' week.  Eating baskets and baskets of chips and free queso while waiting for our table.

We want to go to other restaurants, but the times we stray either lead us to places with crappy food, crappy service, or both.  Granted, we could actually drive an extra five minutes to get out of our part of town, but that would add about 10 minutes to our dinner round trip (if I did the math correctly). Plus, we kinda like the baskets and baskets of chips and free queso.  It's like tex-mex crack.

Part of the problem these days is the proliferation of the breasteraunt.  Certainly, we avoid obvious places like Hooters and Bikinis, but some of the names could be misconstrued.  Bone Daddy's sounds like a nice cajun place to me, and I thought Twin Peaks might be a David Lynch-themed restaurant based on the cult television show.  Nope, just breasts.

The "Joe's Crab Shack" next to Chuy's closed a few years back.  And, as far as I know, it was actually about the crab, and not some oblique reference to something sexual.  In the brick building they opened a place called the Brick House Tavern.  Looked like a nice place to get a burger and fries.  Apparently, the name was not a reference to the building materials.  And yes, our waitress Candy (or was it Amber?) was mighty mighty.  She was letting it all hang out.  To be fair, the burgers were quite tasty.  Much better than at the Landing Strip by the airport.

So having been burned before, we avoid restaurants that have names that could be veiled code for soft-core strip joints.  Third Base?  Nope.  Aunt Bee's Muffin House?  No way.  Erections Bar and Grill?  Likely not. Though the jury is still out on Pole Dancers Bistro.