Each week, the Cheap Bastard goes looking for a new place to eat a meal for less than nine million dollars. This week, she stops by Lucia, where getting out for less than that might require some creativity.
Cool spoon chandelier count: 1 Jealous people eating shit at home while I ate at Lucia count: 2,347
Having to make a reservation in order to eat food sucks old, shriveled, dead donkey balls. But Lucia doesn't give one shit about how much that pisses you off. Lucia is the new restaurant everyone in Dallas wants to bone and she knows it. Lucia doesn't even answer the phone when you call to make a reservation. She's like, "Bitch, leave a message if you want a piece of this and I'll decide if you get one this year or not."
I made my month-ahead reservation for a Tuesday night. I waited impatiently, wishing STDs on all the people who were getting to eat tiny baby rabbits and veal and shanks before I would get my turn.
And then my Tuesday came.
The menu here is pricey. You'd think you can't get out of here for under 10 bucks, but you're dumb. There are many ways to eat here cheaply, including but not limited to: bringing Denzel Washington with you and making him pay for dinner; eating off of the plates of the people at the table next to you until they make you stop ("I thought this place was fucking family style, gah!"); and/or you could just order eight of the $1-each whipped foie gras-stuffed prunes.
I'm not sure why they have to whip the foie gras before they stuff it into a prune (Hasn't it already been tortured enough?), but whatever they're doing to it back there turns out super mega great. Of course, the hunk of braised rabbit leg and the slurp of cauliflower risotto I licked off a stranger's plate were also good, and they were totally free.
As I walked out of Lucia, some lazy hipsters walked in the door. The hostess asked them if they had a reservation and they said, "No, we were just going to sit at the bar." I laughed in their faces. "You can't do that, dummies! Hope you like the taste of Lucia's door slapping you in your tiny, tiny butts! Amiright, Luchy?!" My hand waited in the air for a high five from Lucia, but she just "You're an idiot"-ed me and led them to the bar.
What the many fucks, Lucia?! You're telling me you don't have to have a reservation to eat here? You can just walk in, sit at the bar and order eight foie gras-stuffed prunes and then drop your fork Kanye-drop-the-microphone-style, flip the double foie gras bird at everyone in the place and leave? Dammit. See you tomorrow, you delicious sneaky bitch.
