If you haven’t been to The Palm, you must. The caricatures on the wall make it interesting from every angle. My particular favorite is Chester Cheetah, while Dad’s (my boss) thought that Big Dick Harvey or someone was just too funny. UNCOMFORTABLE.
|Half-n-Half (BACK OFF)|
So for dinner, I decided to go light and just order a small steak. A small, bone-in 24+ ounce ribeye. JK, I split it with my mom. By the time it came I had already tried adjusting my belt on my dress to be looser, but I ended up just looking like a creep touching my boobs. Fail. The steak was fine, nothing to call home about. The real winner here is the fact that they give you bibs (if you’ve eaten w/ me, you probably have noticed that I don’t have great coordination and spill everything), and they crack the lobster and crab for you. What greater gift to a fatty then having someone do all the work, tie a bib on you, then tell you to dip your fish in melted butter. Besides giving you crabs, the waiters here would make the perfect husband—they make sure you always have enough wine to tolerate them, they do all the hard work for you, and they offer you drawn butter like its water. In fact, they find it odd if you don’t request more. A man who wants you to be drunk and fat=JACKPOT. We also had some light sides including fried asparagus, fries, shrooms, and cheesy potatoes.
|The "small" Surf-and-Turf (NY Strip and Lobster)|
Then, one of my fellow fatnip’s ordered a “dessert sampler,” which came with a huge choco cake slice, carrot cake, crème brulee, tiramisu, and some other chunky kid item. And she ordered TWO of them. WOOF. I don’t love dessert, but when I came to around 8:30 and realized that I had eaten the entire sugar shell off the crème brulee and started going in to some type sugar shock/red wine coma at the table. When one of our co-workers suggested that a fellow should dance for us, we decided it was best to leave and went on our merry ways (Had it been our other co-worker, I would have stayed for a private dance).
|Crab Legs and Butta|