Lord Byron (1788-1824)
Like Black Sunday, or any other moment of historic gloom, my little devout cohort mourned the loss of our local Red Lobster at Wilshire and La Cienega at the tail end of Beverly Hills' famed Restaurant Row. Now you may ask, why the Lobster? One is that there is a group of us foodies that really love the joint on several levels. Primarily, it is one of the tastier and more dependable chains in existence. There are also the famous Ruben tales that we insist on him telling each time we go. When Ruben was working there as a youth, one afternoon included a butt nekked crack-head passed out in a toilet stall. Did this ever happen at Chasen's? I think not.
So, our options are limited: Monrovia or Lakewood. I choose Lakewood primarily for it's very own take on the Restaurant Row concept. In about a four block span, there are a plethora of chain restaurants back to back, from the sacred (Marie Calendars) to the profane (Hometown Buffet). What sweetened the deal was that our good friend Sherman is also a big fan of the Lobster and graced us with his presence on a trip down south for a Sunday brunch.
Well, Red Lobster doesn't have "brunch" per se. They have seafood for days, and this makes us very very happy indeed.
Olive Garden has those salt licks that they call bread sticks, but the Lobster has cheesy biscuits. At least three unique sources of the "bad" cholesterol eek through their flaky exoskeletons.
Ruben simply dotes on them.
And the requisite fake Caesar salad to go with them. My old roommate and I used to make the most exquisite Caesar salad together, with freshly coddled egg to emulsify the dressing and a liberal amount of coarsely diced anchovies for nerve. It is almost an ongoing surprise to see what passes for one of these things wherever one goes, but Lobster's is just as fine as any. An ultra creamy dressing loaded with Parmesan cheese granules goes quite well with the biscuits.
And there is no tarted up salad that cannot be augmented and improved with black pepper, if you please.
Appetizers! Ruben's delight! As if one's main course was not going to be a jamboree of fried or butter soaked crustaceans, one is often compelled to take it to the next level as the laboratory chefs at the Lobster wish to take us to. Behold, Lobster Pizza...
Barely tastes like lobster, truth be told. But this does not prevent our intrepid Ruben from indulging with the rest of us. I mean, it's REAL lobster, for crissakes!
The sampler platter was almost like a more palatable red-headed stepchild of one of Ruben's favorite RL meals: the Admiral's Feast. It's the all-breaded and deep-fried plate. Think if Gorton's and Mrs. Paul had an illegitimate preemie then this would be it. Praise God for clam strips! No one speaks of HoJo's anymore, and that saddens me.
Sherman ordered one of the more traditional meals that always includes one sorry-ass excuse for a lobster tail. But I usually get one of those combos myself, because they're good. And the paltry lobster bit takes on a new life when submerged in drawn butter - one of the most perfect culinary combinations every devised.
However, Ruben and I opted for mix-and-match shrimp fiestas. You really cannot go wrong with brochettes and scampi. You can go wrong with pasta. Looked good on paper, but not so much in real time. Not as bad as the "sourcini" that my friend Russell has about ten years ago at the Yukon Mining Company, but not that delightful.
Ruben is in hog heaven at all times.
And it is this collective regression back to our most silly, playful selves which is probably the primary reason we go back. Not quite like Ponce de Leon-style, but the Lobster has the most endearing effect on us when we fine dine there. And after three plates of shellfish and butter, I usually find nothing in the world to be wrong.
As we were leaving, the true players were coming. One gentleman, dressed to the nines, as if he just came back from auditioning for a reunion tour of the Time. The Lobster's appeal crosses all socioeconomic and cultural lines, as far as I can see. What I would give for a cheesy biscuit saturated in drawn butter right now.
-Quinn
A) You know I'm jealous.
B) I, too, miss the halcyon days of the Black Lobster.
C) In the 2nd to last picture, I can clearly imagine Ruben's "I'm a hungry bear and I want a sandwich".
D) You have now immortalized the sourcini. God bless you.
Next time, you'd best bring me some clam strips, bitch!
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