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Mentioning chicken or pork can be dangerous here, and not just because your waitress, a towering drag queen, is likely to turn your order into a crude double entendre. It’s also because the kitchen — which we suspect is serving Stouffer’s without the tin trays — never comes close to meeting the heights attained by the lip-synching performers or the even kitschier décor: disco balls, chandeliers, and plastic gems the size of baseballs. That the gaggle of bachelorettes leave so much of their half-nuked calamari or freezer-burned lasagna untouched isn’t simply a matter of culinary discretion, though. These young brides-to-be and gal pals are using both hands to deal with sweetly transgressive trannies taking equal delight in grabbing breasts and simulating blow jobs. Make yours a double. — Drew Pisarra

Hurricane cocktail, $10