By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
When it's raining balls all week, the "Let's stay dry" part of me starts saying drive-through is the only way to go. And driving down Buckner Boulevard, I came across a drive-through with barred windows, chipping paint and zero cars in line. Count me in.
The menu at John's Seafood & Chicken is pretty much what you'd expect: seafood "&" chicken. They've got chicken wings, fried shrimp and catfish, plus they also offer about a million other fried options including french fries, egg rolls and onion rings. Basically, they'll put batter on anything and fry it up for ya in their chicken-fish grease. So, if you're a real veggie monster (not one of those veggie-curious poseurs who still eats bacon when you're drunk—"Oh mah Gawd, I was soooo wasted when I made out with that maple-smoked center cut") it's probably safest to skip this place.
In fact, it's probably safest for everyone to skip John's. I ordered the No. 13: six fried shrimp, one catfish fillet, fries and two out-of-nowhere slices of bread. I added a drink ("Can I get a Diet Coke?" "Uhh...we only have Diet Pepsi.") and my total came to $7.56. The shrimp were OK, but I started to really get worried when I preferred what must've been expired squeeze-packet mayo that they relabeled "tartar sauce" over their homemade cocktail sauce. The fries were rubbery, and I was racking my brain trying to figure out why on earth the bread slices were there. Was I supposed to make a sandwich? Were they there to sop up some nonexistent grease? And then I figured it out: The catfish was just a garnish and not meant to be eaten by humans, so the bread was there to help fill you up, assuming that six fried shrimp wouldn't be enough to count as a whole lunch. I'm not kidding, when I took a bite of this catfish I spat it out instantly. And I've got a high tolerance for trash food—consider the fact that I ordered catfish in the first place, right? But this was not the kind of catfish I'm used to. By catfish, John's must've meant feline bajingo.
Which is strange because bars on the windows are usually an indicator of deliciousness.