I dropped in late one evening, curious about the place; I'd never been to a Hooters restaurant before.  Seating seemed to be open, so I plopped myself down at a table near the grill.  My waitress was a pretty li'l thing with glasses, about ten years and twelve inches my junior; she took my order, and then decided to sit down and be friendly for a minute.  Chatting about Oprah isn't a good way of getting a bigger tip out of me, unfortunately.

As I waited, I looked around; yep, the staff was made up of quite a collection of young women, all quite capable of filling their T-shirts...  Most of the clientele were men, except for a few ladies who'd apparently dressed to compete with the waitresses.  Many of them succeeded.

So, I waited for the food...  And waited...  And waited...  After some twenty minutes, it all arrived at the same time.  I'd supposed the wings would arrive first, but it seems they fried 'em up fresh for me.  "Wings" is a misnomer; about half of them were instead little drumsticks, nice and meaty.  The wings weren't at all scrawny either.  They were available as mild, medium, hot, and three-mile-island; I'd ordered them with the hot sauce, which had an interesting taste and lit a small fire in my mouth.  The bleu-cheese dip (50 cents extra) helped as well.

I'd ordered the catfish sandwich as a main course; I'm afraid, presentation-wise, it was pretty bad.  A fairly big white open bun, with a dry, curled-up piece of fried fish sitting on it.  The sucker refused to go flat.  I munched on the pickle, dumped on the included lettuce, closed up the sandwich and took a bite.  Not bad, actually...  It wasn't quite as dry as I'd thought, and had a nice flavor.  The fries that came with the platter were curly and spiced, only slightly undercooked to my taste.

I still had room after the food, so I waved over the waitress/houri and ordered a slice of Hooters' key lime pie.  It arrived, a normal slice of pie on a little doily, sitting on a dinner plate, looking like nouvelle cuisine.  Poor little thing was so alone, I had to put it out of its misery.  Well, it wasn't anything special, a typical frozen pie, but it was good, and went well with the rest of the meal.

And so, my pretty li'l server bounced over carrying a check I did a double-take over.  I didn't eat THAT much...  I double-checked the prices, and yep, that little fish sandwich was more than seven dollars; ten hot wings were almost six.  Wow.  And so, I paid up and headed out.

The moral of the story?  I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the food served.  Just be warned; you're paying for the floor show as well as for your meal.