Chris's Club, Vallejo.
Dinner was a relatively simple, but unique, affair. New York strip (cut to order), grilled (by yourself, I kid not), salad and baked potato - with a mandatory side of a lingerie. Yes, scantily clad young ladies sashayed through the bar and around the tables as we ate our DIY dinner. (I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried). And you could buy raffle tickets for the chance to win an item of the efficiently modeled lingerie if you were so inclined, or a drink from the bar if you weren't.
The cast of characters in Chris's Club, (I do believe they all came straight from Central Casting and are perhaps slated to appear in the next Stephen King film), included a Bettie Paige sort-of-look-alike. Our Bettie, like some modern day Madame Guillotine, sat doing her knitting, at the edge of the dance floor, the entire evening. Perhaps she was knitting something for one of the lingerie-clad models.
If not quite as frightening as a horror flick, it was all still rather strange. Thankfully, the evening's soundtrack was not that of dueling banjos (a la Deliverance), but instead the bluesy guitar picking of Alvon Johnson.
Forgive the grainy photograph - there was no way that I was going to take a photo of the inside of Chris's, or indeed stand outside the joint and focus my camera - it's my version of a drive by shooting. Wow!