Eating With The Enemy

Tonight Lindsay and I crossed a line. Some would say that we compromised our principles, but all good spies know that they are not permitted the luxury of living in a black and white world. Further, let me say that we didn’t pay for all of what we ate. We didn’t do anything technically illegal, mind you, but we know how to work the system.

Many of you are unaware of the recent goings on in Aggieland. For years there has been a little greasy spoon shack near the campus of Texas A&M University that exclusively serves chicken fingers and fries (and lobster, when in season). It’s called “Layne’s of College Station,” and it has long enjoyed a sort of cult following. It is not obscure enough to be a secret, but it isn’t as widely known and appreciated as some of the other favorites of the students. I don’t think I went to Layne’s until my junior year. It just isn’t a place you automatically notice.

I’ve never been to any other restaurant like Layne’s. Their basic menu item is the Chicken Finger Basket (known as the Chicken Finger Box if you’re getting it to go). A Chicken Finger Basket comes with 5 or 6 fried chicken fingers, a generous portion of fries, Texas toast, potato salad, and Layne’s secret sauce. But the baskets are also customizeable. You can omit any item and order extra of something else. You can also order the chicken fingers in bulk if you’re having a big get together or you can order a chicken finger sandwich. Other than the lobster, that’s all you can get at Laynes.

Of course it takes more than food to make a restaurant. The atmosphere is about as laid back as it can get. The cashiers aren’t exactly friendly, and the decor is spare. The parking lot, though surrounded by concrete, is gravel. The building looks like it is about to fall apart. A friend of mine claims to have helped install the central A/C system when he worked at Layne’s one year. This friend, I should note, had no expertise whatsoever in A/C installation. Layne’s is a dive. It’s cramped, furnished with bare-bones laminate booth seating, and the walls are decorated by photo’s brought in by patrons.

But for some reason, mostly because of the sauce, Layne’s is a very endearing place. After your first time at Layne’s you feel like you’ve reached a level of higher knowledge, the gnosis of Aggieland.

But this summer, things changed. Raising Cane’s moved in two doors down from Layne’s. This is a stretch of Texas Avenue where there are relatively few stores. There’s a Chili’s not too far away, a pool hall, a hair salon, and one of those buildings that is a different restaurant every other month, usually alternating between a Chineese buffet and Mexican food. For a long while when the building was vacant, the marque said something like, “Out of Business. Eat at Layne’s.”

Raising Cane’s is everything that Layne’s is and yet the exact opposite. The menu is identical (minus the lobster, and with cole slaw instead of potato salad). The sauce is a very close (though imperfect) imitation of Layne’s sauce. They have good ice. You can trade out your cole slaw for extra toast or fries. But on the other hand, they have a slick new building with professionally designed graphics. Their parking lot is made of new concrete and is brightly lit at night. Their service is friendly and their interior design is sleek and even a bit edgy. Raising Cane’s the anti-Layne’s.

Thus you can understand my outspoken opposition to Raising Cane’s from the first time I saw it. I have held a very strong line against it. I have ridiculed many who have dared to eat there as being of low moral fiber and of extremely poor taste. I have convinced my wife that we should make a family policy of hating Raising Cane’s.

But a unique opportunity presented iteslf to infiltrate Raising Cane’s. Since the Texas A&M men’s basketball team scored 70 points last night against Winthrop, and since Lindsay and I were present at the game, our ticket stubs became two-for-one coupons at Raising Cane’s. When faced with such a moral crisis, we did what any poor married couple would do; we ditched our principles and went to eat at Raising Cane’s. I’m sure that Layne’s would have loved to give us free chicken fingers if only it were backed by multi-national forces of evil and could therefore afford to purchase garish advertising at Texas A&M sporting events. And besides, by eating at Raising Caine’s via coupon, we felt we were slowly undermining their bottom line, especially if we got several drink refills (I should note that the ability to get your own drink refills is the one and only place where the Raising Cane’s experience improves upon Layne’s, but even a broken clock is right twice a day).

So we ate at the new fancy Raising Cane’s, right along with everyone else who was at the basketball game last night. And to be honest, we were not that impressed. The most ridiculous thing about Raising Cane’s is that they have several posters inside reciting the history of the restaurant in a pathetic attempt at saying, “We’re really not copying Layne’s.” I wouldn’t be surprised if one day we learn that Cane, whoever he is, is revealed to be a spawn of The Colonel, who, as we all know, put an addictive chemical in his chicken to make you crave it fortnightly.