Bone Daddy's

I suppose the restaurant’s name – Bone Daddy’s – should have been a clue. But I didn’t think anything about it when the clerk at the north Dallas hotel recommended it after I asked him if there was a nearby barbecue place. What he didn’t tell me was that Bone Daddy’s is a local chain (there are apparently three in Texas) that’s essentially a Hooters with a Texas roadhouse theme. The twenty-something all-female staff are dressed in what look to be painfully tight short-shorts and equally tight tank tops that zip down the front to provide ample cleavage for the viewing pleasure of the all-male clientele. I guess I’m supposed to be titillated (so to speak) by such garb. But I’ve reached an age where my response is less arousal and more do their parents (or grandparents) know where they’re working. Exploitation and quasi-prostitution are not things that sit easily with me. Yet my discomfort was complicated when I got my food – beef brisket, baked beans, mac and cheese – and it turned out to be good, almost very good. Good enough that if I had the chance to eat there again, I just might have to do it. It’s difficult when principle conflicts with barbecue.