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Chick Restaurants
Law No. 23 of the 367 Irrefutable Laws of Life clearly states that given the opportunity to select a restaurant, a woman will almost always choose a chick restaurant.
Incidentally, I'm not entirely satisfied with the term "chick restaurant." I've been trying to come up with another one that denotes an estrogen-laden eating environment and the best I have so far is "estro-rant" ("estrant" for short) or "dress-rant." I'll keep working on it. So I took my wife out to lunch the other day, let her pick the restaurant and, surprise surprise, we wound up at a chick restaurant. After we were seated, my wife said she was thinking about getting the Spinach Pochette with some scones and then following with a Crepe Suzette or torte afterward. I got mad because I suspected she was cussing me out in French or something.
Meanwhile, I was looking at the menu and not understanding a bit of it. My wife suggested that I try either the Chicken Friand or the Beef Bourguignon with white wine caper sauce. Out of all that, I recognized the words "chicken" and "beef." I finally decided to go with the beef. I didn't know what a white wine caper sauce was, and frankly it scared the Crepe Suzette out of me, but I figured I'd take the risk anyway and just scrape it off the meat if it turned out that "caper" is a French word for slugs.
When our food was served, I learned my 20 bucks had purchased about four bites of beef sitting on top a bed of rice. I did the math and it came to roughly five bucks a bite. That must have been one special cow. At those prices, I'm guessing he was Ivy League educated.
There was some other stuff on my plate that I didn't recognize and therefore didn't touch. My rule for food is simple: If I don't recognize it, then I don't eat it. I think most men feel this way. That's why, at pot-luck dinners, all the potato salad, baked beans and fried chicken disappear right away while the string bean casserole and squash soufflé sit there and gather flies.
After we sat in the dress-rant for a while, it came to me in a manner not unlike the revelation John had on the Isle of Patmos, that many men are still wholly ignorant of this culinary anomaly. How does a guy know if the establishment in question is indeed an Estro-rant?
One of the best ways I've found is to examine the sign out front. Is it written in silly, swirly, pastel letters such as a junior high girl might write? Does it have little pictures of butterflies, flowers, or inedible birds on it? Does the name of the restaurant begin with La, Le, or Bon? If the answer to any of the above is yes, then, my friend, this is not the place for you.
A restaurant sign should always display the name of the restaurant in big, bold, easy-to-read letters so that you don't have to think hard when you're hungry. The only picture that should be on the sign should be of an edible animal such as a pig, cow, or chicken.
The restaurant name should be easy to recognize and pronounce. Names such as Eat, Joe's, or Eat at Joe's are all acceptable. Waffle House or Denny's will do in a pinch. It is also helpful if the sign indicates that food -- and I mean real food, daggeddy snabbit, especially meat -- may be found within. Names such as Joe's Pork House or Bob's Steak Shack are ideal. Of course, I should mention that Law No. 24 of the 367 Irrefutable Laws of Life clearly states that a guy should occasionally bite the baguette and take his lady to eat at an estro-rant. I know. I know. It's not an easy thing to do and most men would rather be tortured on the rack. But I believe that it's the nature of love to sacrifice one's own desires and prefer those of someone else. Is it an easy thing to do? No, but I believe it's worth it, and that "if you give, then it will be given unto you." This is the way love works, and I can't see how any relationship -- marriage or otherwise -- could survive without a healthy application of this principle.
So, the next time you find yourself at a dress-rant, order a torte and think of me. But take my advice and stay away from the slugs and crepes. © 2008 Charles Marshall. Charles Marshall is a nationally known Christian comedian and author. Visit his Web site at www.charlesmarshallcomedy.com or contact him via e-mail at charles@charlesmarshallcomedy.com.
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