After eating at a Red Lobster for the first time, I feel endangered. My blood isn’t moving properly. It’s spurting through my face in irregular jolts, galloping in stutters that suggest how clogged my valves must be after years of this bullshit almost-food. My experiences leave me with few answers but many questions:
What the fuck is wrong with you people and your breadlust for these Chicken-in-a-Biskit-tasting-ass biscuits?
How are you going to call these little pillowy mounds of chunky flour cheddar biscuits when there’s no observable goddamn cheddar?
Who’s the market for this overpriced smorgasbord of rubbery cafeteria seafood?
Of all my dining companions, who’s ass is here because they fuck good?
Who the hell decided that so many of these seafood plates need cheese?
How the fuck did you all come to a consensus that Red Lobster biscuits are something you should want to put in your mouth?
I don’t want answers to any of these questions (aside from the good fuckers, who should be identified for the sake of convenience). What I do want is some sort of release from this pressure that’s slowly turning my brain into a sodium-encrusted brick.
Samplings across the Lobsterfest spectrum all led to feelings of bloat, queasiness and lingering shame. Perhaps that’s because we decided to go full-ham on a lobster pizza and the Dueling Lobster Tails platter. Let’s start with the tails: one split in half and paired with a crab stuffing, the other cracked open so that mac ‘n’ cheese could be piled onto it. Somehow, the lobster with cheese was the only one that tasted like lobster. The one drowning in crab mulch was tough enough to be confused with octopus.
The pizza tasted like a high-end tomato basil flatbread from Denny’s with a few token lobster balls to dissuade you from the plausible notion that you were actually in a Denny’s. Even when you got a lobster ball, it’s not like you could taste it.
Notably, our metric for quality eventually became “how much does this lobster taste like lobster?”
In the moment, I enjoyed eating at Red Lobster, questionable lobsters and all. But I also paid for nothing, and I’ve got a diet of a trash compactor. The more I linger on this pain in my gut and this sodium death in my brain, coupled with the idea of actually paying $30 for two lobster tails (one covered in goddamn mac ‘n’ fucking cheese), the more I can’t really think that there’s a single good thing about a Red Lobster that you couldn’t find anywhere else for significantly cheaper. I hoped that everybody already knows this, but given how crowded the place was at lunch today, this dire warning could use a bit of repetition.
Now that we’re clear, I’m gonna come back to these biscuits for a minute.
Aside from serving as a prime example of how incorrect opinions become general consensus through memetic proliferation, there’s no value in these damn biscuits. I had to be told later that I shouldn’t be complaining about the lack of cheese on top because supposedly it’s baked into them. I say that if cheese was straight-up baked into a biscuit, you’d think you’d notice its taste.
[Editor’s note: For a real-ass cheddar biscuit that’s actually a biscuit and actually contains cheddar, hit up Mother.]
You’ve got two elements on these soggy humps: first, a salt-heavy seasoning mix that’s probably got people flipping out because they aren’t accustomed to eating that much MSG; and second, a deep loathing for mankind that allows a chef to lump up any weak-ass dough and call it a biscuit. That’s it. In conclusion, shut the hell up about the biscuits.