I like to call this place "Dead Lobster."  Juvenile, I know, yet it still makes me giggle every time.  It had been years since I'd even thought about stepping foot inside Dead Lobster.  I no longer have an interest in staring at their huge fish tank in the lobby, filled with commercial lobsters trying to escape their own little corner of hell.  The fact that their tiny little claws have been strapped with thick rubber bands doesn't help the situation, and almost seems pathetic.  As I visited Dead Lobster this past week, I so badly wanted to clip those suckers free.

Don't get me wrong, this isn't some PETA soapbox I've stumbled upon, kicked over, and taken as my own personal animal rights podium.  I love seafood.  I love killing it, cooking it, and pairing it with a good wine.  I simply feel as though we should unclip the thick rubber bands from the lobsters' claws, let them run rampant, and whoever dies first is the one who deserves to be eaten - with drawn butter, of course.

Drink One: Triple Berry Sangria (bartender's choice) - I already had this one picked out as what I would chose for my third drink.  The fact that server Daniel voted the same as his choice led me to believe he had been stalking my brain.  I would almost venture to say he was a borderline brain-eating zombie.  Can't say I blame him.  I always imagined my brain to be filled with yummy treats resembling marshmallows, pop rocks and cherry sours.  No Circus Peanuts, though. Those are gross.

Drink Two: Bahama Mama (most popular drink within last hour) - As I slurped the massive rum-laden, frozen-fruit tube through a huge black straw, I pondered why on earth anyone would enjoy noshing on Circus Peanuts.  Really.  Why?

Drink Three: Triple Berry Sangria (my choice) - Why mess with a good thing?  That damn Triple Berry Sangria was mixed up just right, and layered itself upon my tongue with complex fruit flavors that made me feel like I needed to type out a description similar to one you might find a publication like Bon Appetite - except not as classy.  (R.I.P. Bon Appetite)

As my time at Dead Lobster progressed, and my drink tally reached a solid three, I could feel it - my brain turning slowly but surely into the texture of Circus Peanuts. Great.

Red Lobster

2006 S. 320th St. Federal Way
253.941.6162