People like us don’t go to Chili’s that often.  In fact for PLU it only becomes a reality when you’re so far out of town you’re in Narnia and it feels like the safest option.

It would be the safest option were in not for the fact that quite surprisingly our server ‘Zena’ seeemed to be solely on earth to text her bitches on the ever-present-in-these-sorts-of-places T-Mobile Sidekick.

Too busy to bring Tabasco (which arrived as the last scoop of body temperature rice was consumed),  too busy to listen to the order, resulting in a placenta tasting nachos being mis-delivered (much like a north London maternity ward) and too damn busy to bring a pen with the credit card slip.

Anyway, it was certainly better than the mis-named ‘Friendly Diner’ across the street. This appeared to be a chain of food-pits so terrifying, I was certain it was based on a Japanese horror film (like all moderately scary things in the USA).

Zena has also earlier announced with some glee that they had run out of ribs;   something I think Adam probably wished had happened to  Eve  should he have had the pleasure of being served by Zena.

The dinner ended as did the temptation to push the DNA encrusted writing object deep into Zena’s eye.

The bill was signed and we departed.