I Went To The Only Hooters Location In The Bay Area… Here’s What Happened
Being that I am the world’s greatest and most influential male feminist, I decided that it was time for me to support a business that empowers woman so much that I question the legality of it. Hooters is a place I’ve always been fascinated by, and not because the waitresses are attractive, but as a concept. Imagine you’re an investor, and an old man who reeks of Budweiser stumbles into a business meeting and incessantly screams “WHO LIKES TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITS AND CHICKEN WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGS?” As security removes this man from the meeting, one of the investors turns to another sitting beside him and says “you know, Bob, I like tits and chicken wings. I think that man who broke into our building may be onto something.”
That’s at least how I assume Hooters came into existence. So, naturally, I wanted to go and see what the Hooters experience was all about. But it wasn’t easy. There are only seven Hooters locations in California, six of which are in Southern California. Luckily for me, the only one in Northern California is (technically) in the Bay Area. Unfortunately, it wasn’t in San Francisco, or Oakland, or one of the more commutable suburbs placed at random throughout the region; it was in fucking Rohnert Park, 50 miles north of San Francisco.
But I wasn’t going to let that deter me from my mission, so I called up some friends and made the trek up highway 101 into Sonoma County, or as I like to call it “Redneck Marin,” to witness a business that truly should exist in every city, as it is an ethnical pillar in any community lucky enough to have it: Hooters.
Upon arriving, the first thing I noticed was the reflective glass that obscured your view into the restaurant. I liked it. It allows you to look at yourself and make sure you’re well-dressed enough to enter this suburban shrine to ethical capitalism at the crossroads of feminism and fine dining. Me and my Adidas trackpants were ready to go.
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When we first walked in, we were greeted by a hostess who walked us to our table, asked if we wanted anything to drink, and let us know that our waitress would be with us shortly. All jokes and sarcasm aside, the hostess was really nice and came off genuinely warm. Big boobie Applebees wasn’t so bad.
Another thing I noticed was it didn’t feel like I was in California, or at least the California I was used to. I felt like I was teleported to Kansas or Kentucky. It felt like every dude who had ever taken a Tinder photo holding a fish was in attendance. I never see those dudes in the other parts of the Bay Area. Even the lifted truck types in places like Martinez or El Sobrante don’t have this aura. Like If Kid Rock walked in and started performing “Bawithdaba” and a mosh pit broke out, I legitimately wouldn’t have been surprised. It would have felt natural.
As I started to browse the menu, I was shocked at the prices. Six wings cost $13.99. SIX FUCKING WINGS. All the prices seemed inflated. I’m talking San Francisco levels of inflated, but fuck it, I was already there and the group I was with decided there was only one thing to do: ball out. So we fucking BALLED. We bought hella wings, and dips, and drinks and other shit. The best thing there was the fried pickles. Those were immaculate. Food wise, everything else was average except for the curly fries, which were literally the worst curly fries I’ve ever had in my life. They were so shitty it felt conspiratorial. Like they actively wanted them to be bad.
While the food was overpriced and mid, the service was actually great. Our waitress was dope as fuck and because of the great job she did, one of my friends even hooked her up with some weed for after work.
Beyond the legitimately great service, another remarkable thing about the Rohnert Park Hooters location was the fact there literally are twenty four big screen TVs all on at once in the restaurant. Each one was playing something different when we were there, and all of them had the sound on at various volumes. It was one of the most truly psychotic things I had ever witnessed. It was beautiful. It was so shitty, yet so American, it made me smile. With each bite of overpriced chicken wing, I could feel myself slowly becoming a patriot.
The bill came out to $130.00, and we left a $30.00 tip and some weed, so it came out to $160.00 and some weed.
So, all in all, was it worth it? Yes. As a one-time thing, Hooters is worth it because it feels fucking ridiculous.
Is it a place I’ll ever go to again? Fuck no.
But if you’re in the Bay Area, and like a side of boobs with your buffalo wings, it may be worth the trek.
Just don’t be a creep…
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Howdy! My name is Katy Atchison and I'm an Associate Editor for Broke-Ass Stuart.
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