Last Sunday, the fam and I headed out for our weekly tradition – great food and great times at our local Twin Peaks Restaurant in Waco, Texas. I can’t speak highly enough about this place. It has everything under the sun and even more for when the moon hangs high. For starters, the alpine theme is a total bullseye since we all love the outdoors. But that only scratches the surface. Healthy portions at a great value, tallboy beers for me, strawberry margs for the mrs and a professional waitstaff that ain't too shabby to look at – it all adds up to an outstanding customer experience. And the kids positively love those state-of-the-art flat screens so they can zone out to their favorite show – Tattoo Nightmares Miami on the Spike network.
So there we were, having the time of our lives, knee-deep in the Peaks Sampler. For you greenhorns, that’s a savory assortment of fried pickles, buffalo tenders and mozzarella bites. Food so good your taste buds will get goosebumps. So, the kids are happy as clams, the wife is utterly content and I’m feeling a little tingly below the waist looking at those waitresses because they do that thing with the plaid shirts where they pull the front up through the neck so it creates a kind of makeshift bikini top that absolutely knocks my socks off. If I play my cards right, I bet I can walk out of this oasis with a doggie bag full of Blackened Chicken Quesadillas and perhaps even a phone number or two. You see, my wife and I have an open marriage. And by that I mean I’m open to talking to a few ladies on the side! But I digress.
So, we’re all smiles and high-fives waiting for Mercedes to bring out our Smokehouse Burgers with the Gruyere Cheese and Slow-Roasted Cipollini Onions when what happens? Two extremely rough individuals spill out of the men’s restroom. A man with an impossibly bushy handlebar mustache has a guy with a flaming cobra tattoo in a headlock and he’s punching him in the face yelling, “I’m gonna fucking eat your soul you cocksucker motherfucker!” That is not the kind of language we allow Tucker and Tanner to use indoors. And we hadn’t even gotten our BBQ Pulled Pork Nachos with the Sriracha Sour Cream yet!
So, another guy with a shaved head and a patch on his leather vest that says “Satan’s Spawn” pulls the handlebar mustache guy off and starts stabbing him with a skewer that I can only assume was used for the Poblano Chicken and Shrimp Kabobs with the Roasted Garlic Lime Butter Sauce. Like, full-on stabbing him. I don’t know if my wife has 100 cc’s of strawberry marg courage coursing through her veins at this point or what, but she gets up and starts yelling at them to "take this shit outside.” I knew it wasn’t a good idea because Satan’s Spawn yelled, “Shut up, bitch!” Now, that’s no way to talk to a lady. I was super-close to saying something, but the guy broke out one of those bats with the spikes on it. All I had was the cast iron skillet from my Red Curry Skirt Steak Fajitas, but I’d only taken a couple bites and it’s one of my top 5 favorite dishes at the Peak.
So, Spawn starts clubbing this guy right on the face, chest and shoulders. The whole thing was so stressful it was making me a bit parched, but this didn’t seem like the best time to ask for a refill. Anyway, a cook from the back comes rushing in with a meat cleaver which he probably uses to chop up the Green Chile Pot Roast with Jalapeño Cream Gravy. He yells, “Blood for blood!” and starts hacking away at the guy’s leg until it resembles the Bread Pudding with Cinnamon Bourbon Sauce.
Before we knew it, the manager rips off his name tag, yells “This is our turf, bitches!” and starts spraying the place with an AK-47. Everybody scatters as the battle spills into the parking lot.
This is when my instincts take over. Without hesitation, I jump on top of Mercedes. I simply couldn’t live with myself if that precious angel got hit by a stray bullet. She made it out alive. But I’m no hero. I’m just a guy who’s more than a little annoyed by the entire situation.
