The Underappreciated Eating Establishment Series: Red Lobster

If you're one of the many people who has been hounding me to post about my Red Lobster experience for almost four months now, I must apologize. It took me this long to digest the (roughly) four pounds of shellfish I ate that night, and I'm just now starting to feel like myself again.

I could not believe how many people jumped to join me at my Red Lobster de-virginization. I mean LEAPT at the chance to eat heaps of food from a category that, even in top quality, can be responsible for the most vicious food poisoning ever to wash through your entrails. But somehow a group nine deep (including Jay-Z, Big Mo and K-Pun) came to inhabit a long dais of bargain seafood at the center of the universe: Times freaking Square.

Of the nine diners, my girl Jules, her boyfriend DC and I were the only Red Lobster novices. Jules, one of the original contributors during the gestation of the Underappreciated Eating Establishment Series' mission, had passed on rumors of the existence of mouthwatering "cheesy biscuits," Red Lobster's stab at the addictive, unlimited dinner roll. When we finally rounded up the crew and sat down to dinner we were starving, and those little popovers started disappearing at lightning speed. Jules and DC gave the warm, flaky bread nuggets rave reviews, as did the rest of the table, who claimed to have embraced cheesy biscuit comas in the past. But I was less than impressed, wanting an even warmer and fluffier conduit for a tangier, more obvious cheesiness. I'm also not that big into biscuits, so it could be my bias talking here, but the saltine simplicity of the Olive Garden breadstick is still the yeast to beat.

For the main course, almost the entire table opted for "The Ultimate Feast," a combo platter of fried shrimp, shrimp scampi, crab legs and a lobster tail, served with a potato in the form of your choice.


Sebastian has seen better days.

These mammoth platters of shellfish were hoisted out, four at a time, by the strongest waitress alive, and were granted to the members of our party at just over thirty bucks a pop, a deal that pleased and made me nervous at the same time. DC elected to order the televised promotion special of the month, 35 shrimp any style, which he bumped up to a mammoth 45 for a couple extra dollars. (N.B. It is noted on Red Lobster's website that all prices in the Times Square and Hawaii locations are higher than advertised. Figures.) T-Money, who is allergic to shellfish**, opted for one of the few non-seafood, dishes on the menu, which was a chicken pasta, covered in what else but alfredo sauce.

In my opinion the shrimp were pretty measly, missing the robust fleshiness required for scooping up cocktail sauce or marinara. But they were lying limp in a garlic butter sauce or crusted with breading on my plate, which hid their inferior quality well enough. I also thought the lobster tail was a little on the tangy side (although it could have all been in my head), but MAN were those crab legs sweet. I would go back to that place for the crab legs alone. The crab lags and maybe the drinks.

Now, I'm not ordinarily a fan of the frozen beverage, but when you're waiting for a group of nine to pull together at the bar, you're bound to peruse the special drinks menu. On a whim I opted to start the night with a pilsner full of Bahama Mama, a strawberry-injected pina colada. Nine dollars for ten ounces of crushed ice, two ounces of sugared food coloring and half an ounce of actual liquor. The Long Island Iced Tea that followed my tropical slurpee seemed to do more of the trick in bringing on the buzz. I typically fear the Long Island Iced Tea, as it combines just about every liquor I refuse to drink alone, tastes nothing like iced tea, and is named after a place that conjures memories of drunken adolescent behavior I am less than eager to revisit. But Big Mo seemed to be pleased with his first cocktail (he often starts his nights with the magic tea), so I decided to take a chance. The drink was the perfect cap to my seafood orgy, putting me in a coma that effectively numbed the pain of digestion. Strong Island represent.

Now, Mo sucked down his first concoction in no time and was ready for his second round long before the waitress brought our bounty of crustaceans to the table. It was on his second trip to the bar that the guy, in a bold vote of confidence in his manhood, decided to order a six gallon martini glass full of frozen strawberry daiquiri.


It takes a big man to order a drink that pink.

A warning to men who are tempted to pull a similar stunt in the future: As with the sporting of a pink mens shirt, don’t try to pull off drinking a massive, conspicuously girly drink if you don’t have a set of fucking bowling balls between your legs. Especially when the Red Lobster marketing team decides to call your tub of rose-colored slushie “The Lobsterita.” It's the most ridiculous name possible, the child of a brainstorming session in which everyone was on crack. It’s a name you love to hate to love. It’s the drink equivalent of worst band name ever. It’s fucking genius.

I don’t know if the Lobsterita tasted any good, and can’t remember if Big Mo even came close to finishing it, but I do remember the drink making frequent appearances in my overnight shellfish-induced hallucinations. (Morning-after discussions with DC confirmed that both of us awoke in discomfort in the wee hours, myself with visions and nightmares, DC "to drink a gallon of water.") The following Monday, none of my coworkers reported middle-of-night disturbances, although Big Mo made it clear Red Lobster would live on through the next week and beyond, interjecting shouts of "Lobsterita!" at random points during the day. For quite some time the drink was adopted into dub room vernacular to imply a number of things:

1. I need a drink. (In a desperate tone, with a look of exhaustion: "Lobsteriiiiiitaaaa.")
2. Fuck that. (Chris Tucker stylee: "Lobsterita motherfucker!")
3. Hand me that dub? (Pointing to the tape: "Lobsterita?")

This all-purpose exclamation has since exited our daily vocabulary, but as I finally put a cap on this long-awaited installment of UEE: Red Lobster, I feel it is only appropriate to blurt out, if one last time (a la Benicio Del Toro in The Usual Suspects): LOSTERFUCKINGRITACOCKSUCKERMOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!!!


**Jay-Z is also allergic to shellfish, which is why she ordered shrimp, lobster, and crab legs for dinner. I'm actually pretty sure she ate the last half of MY lobster tail as well. It's okay, she looks HOT in hives.