Lea and I had lunch at Red Lobster today. It was a solid high 6 or low 7, just like every single trip to Red Lobster has ever been my entire life. It’s the knownest of known quantities. In my view, the only other restaurant offering similarly relentless predictability is Cracker Barrel. I’ve never had an amazing meal either place—but I’ve never had a bad one, either.
Red Lobster is a relative experience. When I was growing up in Anniston, the one in Oxford wasn’t there yet, so more than once we drove to Birmingham just to eat dinner there. That’s two hours round-trip in the car…for Red Lobster. That’s unthinkable to me now. And explain this to me: why is there such a thing as a Red Lobster doing good business in a city that is on the Gulf of Mexico? Fifty cars at the Destin location? Really?
So why do we go back? Same reason we still pop in the best of REO Speedwagon once in a while, I suppose. No surprises. No edge.
But there’s comfort in “reliably good.”
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