I'm on the All-Carb Diet
Lunch Special: $3.95 for an entrée and two sides.
A/C count: 0
Rumor that Bonnie and Clyde met here count: 1
I almost walked right past the Record Grill. No, not because it's so scary from the outside that you think crossing the threshold of the building could give you the clap. I almost walked past it because its entrance is a tiny doorway at the corner of Record and Elm that looks like it doesn't want to be opened. The window of the building is halfway covered up and has that really chic "is this building abandoned?" vibe that places such as Ghostbar and Abacus can only dream of emulating.
When I did finally open the door, the sweet aroma of grease hit me square in the face. Yum. I sat down at a table in the crowded shotgun of a restaurant and had one of the lunch specials. It was only $3.95 (cash only, bitches) for an entrée and two sides. Seconds later, some sliced bread fresh out of a plastic bag showed up at the table, and seconds after that, my lunch arrived: gravy with a little chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes under it and some green beans on the side, plus the requisite Diet Coke for an extra $1.35. (I wish I had ordered it ironically, but really I ordered it because chicken-fried steak and Diet Coke is one of my favorite pairings. You have to be sure to let the Diet Coke breathe a little in the plastic bottle just after you open it. Really brings out the full body of the aspartame.)
If you're on a diet, don't go to the Record Grill. Just saying a word like "calories" in this place will get you smacked over the head with a cash register. "Does this deep-fried cod have Omega-3 in it?" Smack. "I'm on a low-carb..." Smack. I'm not even kidding. There was a hair in my mashed potatoes, and I swear it was from the noggin of some bleached and 'roided-out workoutbot. Mashed potatoes is people, y'all.
Record Grill doesn't give a crap about South Beach or any of that bullshit. They're too busy serving up the kind of lunch that sticks to your insides. I ate dinner later, but only out of habit and an interest in exactly how many times over I could exceed my recommended daily intake of sodium.
If you're gonna feel guilty about gorging yourself on their meatloaf, do us all a favor and go do suicide drills from one X to the other in the middle of the road in Dealey Plaza. Somebody's waiting for your table.
Tired of spending $10 for a mediocre lunch? Let Cheap Bastard show you how to spend way less for something better.
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