Bring me Four Fried Chickens, and a Coke.

Im eating in a Mexican American restaurant in Groningen. Its ethnically diverse. Upon entering I ask for a seat for one, and get some odd looks from the wait staff. I may of gone in the back door, but who really cares (Zing.)
They arrange me a table in the back corner. I take my seat and the waitress asks me if I'd like to the the "American" menu. I'm tempted to ask for the Mexican one. The food costs 10 to 15Euro for an entree, more than I thought, but understandable as I begin to realize how self-conscious I've become in my jeans and v-neck. This place is upscale, at least by Mexican food standards.
After 20 minutes the food comes. Imagine fajitas- if they shared a common relative with Chicken Curry, Kidney Beans, and Cole Slaw- with 3 dry, cold white tortillas. Its not too bad, but my idea of the Dutch being a "worldly" people has left the building with his buddies Cumin, Cilantro, Jalapeno, and Avocado. C+ for taste, but F for Effort..
I'm waiting around for the check, like you always do in Dutch restaurants, and I realize how small this place is. The back of the bar is the busing station, and as I said before, I think I toured the kitchen on the way in. And the whole meal I'm getting sideways glances from the other patrons and wait staff. I pay the bill and begin putting on my jacket. I think of standing up and shouting "Christ! haven't you people seen a real Cowboy before?!" But the Irony would be wasted.