It’s a Friday night in 1987and you’re wearing your best acid washed jeans with your Frankie Says Relax shirt. Your date’s hair has reached full Aqua Net structural integrity and you just slid into a red vinyl booth at Chi-Chi’s with a basket of free chips and a cold, syrupy margarita the size of a birdbath. Chi-Chi’s wasn’t just a restaurant. It was where Midwest families went to feel spicy.