Not since Hamburger Mary’s switched to Urban Mo’s have I put my choppers to work on the mondo-sized burgers and other grub that multiplied as a result of breaking ties to the Mary’s franchise. As an independent operation, a slew of daily specials and new menu items have been introduced to the spirited party zone, giving patrons all the more reason to foil-line their handbags for toting home leftovers.

Nothing is served small here. Cocktails are implanted with generous liquor pours, some measuring up to two-and-a-half ounces apiece. And whether you commune over an order of freshly fried Kettle chips or retreat into a slab of herb-crusted prime rib, portion sizes practically crawl off the edges of plates – this, in a place where the average waist size is 30. Go figure.

An order of pre-fab jalapeno poppers (10 to the count) was a formidable starter for only two mouths, even if the batter-coated chilies had been less rugged in texture. And as jalapenos vary wildly in their heat levels, these packed a wimpy punch and overflowed with cream cheese.

To our extreme liking, however, was the raspberry-chipotle-ranch salad featuring a mound of crisp lettuces and veggies drenched acceptably in two dressings. On top were copious slices of chicken breast. Kudos to the chef who figured out how pretty tasting ranch becomes when melded with the smoky-fruity tang of raspberry-chipotle sauce.

“When it was Hamburger Mary’s, they had the worst salads,” my companion commented as we sprinkled the medley with a few of the Kettle chips lingering on our table for an even greater effect.

To the shock of our highly accommodating waitress, we proceeded to three entrees. Cajun pasta with chicken, shrimp and Andouille sausage, she revealed, hasn’t yet been fully discovered among the denizens. To them we say, “You don’t know what you’re missing!”

The dish kicks with both feet, providing a blast of nostril heat from peppery spices whisked in cream. The ingredients and sauce are tossed into an expansive bed of ribbony fettuccine noodles sporting the delicacy of homemade pasta, even though it’s not. Nonetheless, I flung open my microwave door the next morning, unable to wait until lunch for re-heating the leftovers.

On Thursdays and Fridays, the dinner special is herbed prime rib, which includes mediocre mashed spuds with jus-deficient gravy, yet perfectly sautéed veggies cooked in just the right amount of oil. Sadly, the monstrous cut of meat arrived so overdone that it was crunchy from end to end. And the dull steak knives included in our table settings threw us into a losing fighting match with the meat.

So we instead beefed out on a stuffed, half-pound burger harboring chipotle peppers, Ortega chilies, cilantro and Jack cheese. Good stuff – especially with the fresh and chewy ciabatta buns used for housing these chubby patties. Burgers remain big business here, and there are now about a dozen different types to choose from, flat or stuffed.

The menu has grown to also include meaty sandwiches, mango swordfish, pulled pork, tequila shrimp and more. Few Mexican items exist. For those we head to Mo’s sister hotspot, Baja Betty’s.

Mo’s atmosphere is reliably jovial and unaffected by the name change that some GLBT patrons perceived as derogatory when it was first implemented. Those sensitivities have undoubtedly fallen to the wayside judging from the daily sea of customers that cluster around the bars and fill the dining areas both inside and on the large outdoor patio.

The mixed demographic of young, mature, GLBT and straight is refreshing. And the chaotic combination of house music thumping to televisions playing reality shows, sports and concert videos is oddly tolerable, thanks to a festive milieu that permeates every corner of the house, and of course, some really big food available at decent prices.