Still, the thought of damn good chicken lingered with Corb and me, all week long, like the smell of cheap perfume. Neither of us had gone in years, and we had kind of been getting all excited about the thought of going back.
So, Friday night, we decided to make it a date night. We haven't gone out to eat, just the two of us, in months, but we decided it was something we just had to do. Besides, the price isn't that bad...$10.95 for all you can eat, in a restaurant that has a bit more color than your run-of-the-mill Chili's. It's set off in the country, and basically consists of several huge halls, kind of like the Crystal Palace at Disney World.
I got home from work late and we got a little lost on the way, so by the time we got to Wright's, things were a little tense in the car. I drove in silence and Corb sat next to me, afraid to say a word. What can I say, it's a bad trait I inherited from my father...the longer I go without food, the grumpier I get.
The minute we sat down to eat, that all melted away.
It's the unhealthiest food imaginable, and one size fits all. No choices, no dessert.
But what you get: salad with heavenly Italian dressing, super vinagary. A big huge bowl of rotisserie chicken. French fries, made the old fashioned way--personally hand cut and fried, the way my mom used to make them. Pasta (which I don't frankly care much about).
Within a half an hour, I was a changed man. I was also totally stuffed.
"That was a million calories, but totally worth it," said Corb, wiping his mouth with his napkin.
Amen, brother. As we walked into the parking lot, I felt the grease on my fingers and the fill in my belly, and I knew that I had experienced the healing power of damn good chicken.