From Famine to Feast Conclusion 3-30-12

Admittedly, the house salad, when the correct version finally came, was very good. Was it "wait for 35 minutes to get the order right" good? Not exactly. Just as the last cherry tomato disappeared off my plate, some kind of manager-guy approached with our sandwiches. We stared in disbelief. My "fish sandwich" was a GIANT piece of Tilapia or gouper or something equally succulent and tender. It had the slightest murmer of a perfectly seasoned reddish orange breading surrounding the entire, double the-size-of-your-hand piece. It dwarfed the sliced, crusty Cuban bread that attempted to surround the fish only to end up perfectly complimenting it. Susan's chicken sandwich was quite good as well, she claimed. Was my sandwich worth waiting 40 minutes for? As far-fetched as it sounds...perhaps it was. The tip was back up to 15% by now and climbing. A quick, unrequested refill on my diet coke sent it to 18%. As I ate, the bartender/slash barmaid arrived at work. She was at least 5'7" with long curly brunette hair and she wore spray-painted-on leather pants that did not come close to covering her hips. She had a shiny satin tube top on that "pushed things up" dramatically. She looked like a fourth year college student, which as it turned out is exactly what she was. Like a scene from Little Havana, a gaggle of old Cuban men gradually drifted in from out of nowhere and seated themselves at the bar, ordering drinks and flirting. A few glanced sideways at Susan, who usually prevails in any impromptu cleavage contests and did this day, but a second glance in my direction convinced them to re-focus their attentions on the bartender. Susan claims that men are much friendlier to her when I am sitting at home, and it was interesting to witness them trying mightily to ignore her as I paid for lunch. We intend to try Prana again next month.