Food: Seal Steak Central

Yo, bitches, I’m Chris Derricks! Respect! So The Double Thumb wanted to send me someplace fancy for my first food review with them and so I stood the hell up in that board meeting and demanded to review Seal Steak Central! They resisted at first, but finally relented when I said I’d sue them for sexual harassment otherwise. That’s all you have to do in a corporate setting. Say you’re gonna sue someone for looking at your junk funny, and they fold like a moist towelette. Holy shit, did I just say “moist towelette?” Frank, go get me nine beers! I play this game where every time someone says something faggy, they have to drink. I am no exception.

Okay, where are we? Oh yeah, SEAL STEAK! You goddamn heard me right. Seal Steak Central is located in La Jolla, California, right next to the beach. I’d never actually been there because my other outfits were too cheap to comp me a dinner there. But TDT is rock solid, baby, and paid for plates for me and my mandatory six-man “Official Chris Derricks Food Review Crew.”

So let’s get started. Walkin’ into this place feels like you stepped into a rich ass seal cave. Low lit for mood, fancy fountain in the middle, shiny cutlery and tablecloths made for nice digs. But what got my attention were the pictures of seals adorning almost every bit of wall space. Each one had a little plaque underneath it that listed what type of seal it was, where it was from, and when it was harvested. I was salivating just walking around the place.

We got seated promptly at our reservation time, or at least I assume we would have been if we hadn’t rolled in three hours past it. As it was, they kicked some old ass couple out of a booth to make room for us (TDT is a heavy hitter, yo. People drop what they’re doing for us.) They served the shit out of us, and all of the waiters were chill. We started with an appetizer of delicious pelican fingers as we got our drink on. Then came time to order the main course.

“Can I pick mine?” I asked Gustav, our head waiter.

“Of course, sir,” he said and led us around back. We went through a sliding glass door and outside to the holding tanks.

Gustav made a sweeping gesture and said, “Any one of your choosing, sirs.”

   Oh man, how to choose just one?

“I’ll have that fat fuckable one on the left,” I told Gustav.

“Of course, sir.”

“Yo, can I name him?” I asked. He looked at me quizzically.

“I’m going to name him Monty,” I continued. “So that I can pretend he had a whole life and friends and identity and everything before I eat him. It makes food taste better.”

“Of…of course sir.”

After the rest of my dope ass crew picked out their meals, we went back inside and pounded shots into this tiny thing of a waitress. Seriously, she could not hold her alcohol. I’m not sure what happened to her. A little later we heard a few dull thuds and some seal moans. They came out about ten minutes later and hung the pictures of our seals on the wall. I insisted Monty’s picture was hung in a gold glitter frame. Respect, Monty.

Nothing says America like seal steak.

 A while after we all got good and hammered, they brought us our food. And boy, oh boy did it ever look enticing! A tasteful side of sliced cucumber and a white sauce beautifully framed the delicious, delicious slices of seal.

Oh Monty, you look beautiful.

That shit kicked ass! Out of all the seal steak I’ve had, this place is a strong contender for mid-to-bottom of the top five! Seasoned perfectly, with subtle undertones of reservation and sadness, this meal was a thing of beauty. It was over all too quickly, but an entirely enjoyable experience. Me and my crew reveled in the deliciousness, did another round of shots, then decided to bounce.

As they got their coats, I decided to go out back to the holding tank to see the tears on the faces of Monty’s bitch-ass seal friends. Gustav tried to stop me, saying something about it being “highly irregular” but he stopped when I think he may have accidentally been pushed through the sliding glass door. I walked to the seal tank and– what the fuck is this shit?!

The fucker made eye contact!

 Monty was still in there! So were the rest of the seals that my crew supposedly ordered! What the hell was going on? I tried to interrogate Gustav, but he was bleeding out of one of his eyes and also apparently didn’t want to answer me. I ran back into the restaurant, called my crew, and we stormed into the kitchen to see what they had actually cooked us, and came upon a horrible sight.

The steaks are just regular cow! What the bullshit?! I immediately called the National Guard, and they swiftly took over the situation. The entire staff was led out in handcuffs (Gustav in a stretcher) and later tried and convicted for conspiracy to commit fraud. I believe they each got 18 years to life. Seal Steak Central was shut down, and all of those poor, potentially scrumptious seals were wastefully turned loose back into the ocean.

Seal Steak Central tried to dupe its customers into thinking they were paying $300 for a plate of savory, innocent seal, when in fact all they were getting was plain-old boring asshole cow. The moral of the story here is that lying gets you nowhere in life. Seal Steak Central learned this the hard way. You try to cheat people out of food, and guess what happens? You get taken down by Chris Fucking Derricks. Respect.

 

Verdict:

Food: 2 out of 10

Affordability: 4 out of 10

Lies/Deceit: 10 out of 10

Atmosphere: 6 out of 10

Overall: 1 out of 10

 

Outside image credits: 1, 2, 3