"Hi, I'm Carla. I'm a Twin Peaks Girl at Twin Peaks Houston. I hope to see you real soon at Twin Peaks for our awesome hearty man food, ice cold beer and all the sports you can handle. It's why we are the best sports bar in Houston! And, of course, because I'm here. ☺ Hope to see you soon! XOXO, Carla"

This is an actual quote from the Twin Peaks Web site...and this is where I was convinced to meet some friends for lunch last week. But the worst part of it all? I actually enjoyed it.

I've heard the chatter from my guy friends about the city's newest breastaurant:

"They're like slutty lumberjacks; it's awesome."

"See, there's an order to the hotness, starting from the hostesses and moving up the scale to the bartenders."

and...

"The shorts are just soooo small."

This doesn't exactly make me want to run right there to eat a burger, but they swore, "The food is actually really good!" That, coupled with the claim that they had seen Arian Foster and the fact that I could use this trip against my fiancé in the future, pushed me to the dark side.

And I was pleasantly surprised. I'd been to a few Hooters in my day, with the busty waitresses running around a dark bar serving fat, drunk guys wings -- it hasn't ever been my first choice in dining. If I can make better wings at home and avoid having a camel toe in my face, I'm in.

But Twin Peaks was different...

The ambience wasn't outdated and sad, it was actually kinda cool -- a giant bar sat center stage in a mountain lodge-esque dining area flanked with moose heads and flat-screens. Even the booths had personal flat-screens for your viewing pleasure (btw, I'm not going to go into the other "views," but I can tell you the three guys I sat with seemed to enjoy the "scenery" during our afternoon stay).

The service was fast and friendly, but not too friendly, which I appreciated (I didn't even have to hold my fiancé's hand above the table and passive-aggressively blast my ring, not that I planned on doing that). We ordered our drinks, skipping the 29 degree draught beer in lieu of water, but I've heard they serve the ice-cold brews in giant frosted mugs, which I also really appreciate.

On to the menu, which I was skeptical of considering that the only people who have urged me to eat at this breast-filled restaurant were men. At first glance, I was pleasantly surprised. They actually did have plenty of choices: Mini Jalapeño & Cheese Brats, Grilled Chicken Cobb Salad, Ribeye Steak Sliders and Blackened Fish Tacos -- it all looked great. I went with the Chicken Ranch sandwich ($8.95), while others at my table went with the Twin Cheeseburger ($8.75 for "man size," $7.25 for "girl size" -- which, sexism aside, I actually don't mind) and Spicy Chipotle Chicken ($10.75).

My sandwich was huge; a massive mesquite grilled breast came topped with fresh pico de gallo, bacon and Swiss (which I switched from pepper jack) on a ranch mayo-slathered, fluffy bun. I threw some of the bacon off and fed it to the boys because there was just too much, but the rest was perfect -- juicy, salty, tangy, sweet and smoky. The accompanying steak-cut fries were crisp and had a little kick from the light dusting of a peppery spice blend.

I even sneaked a bite of my guy's chicken dish, a juicy blackened chicken breast topped with a chipotle black bean salsa, pico, grilled zucchini and bits of sweet corn; it was perfectly smoky and surprisingly light, with a nice freshness from the pico and crisp veg.

In the end, the boys were right; this place is more than meets the (gawking) eye. You could say they have a "breast" up on the competition...sorry, that was horrible. I'm done now. Thanks.