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| - Recently, I finally got around to trying the hallowed fried shrimp. Neither underbattered or overbattered to donut consistencies, the quintet of butterflied shrimp was cooked to an ideal stage. Also coated in batter were the above par french fries. However, aside from the chipper service, the rest of my pre-concert (Enslaved, Ancient VVisdom, Royal Thunder, and Pallbearer at Mr. Smalls!) dinner at Grant Bar was a downhill ride on a bad road.
My side of cole slaw, and the apple pie (with rock-hard ice cream yet) I had for dessert were both almost completely flavorless. The cup of Turtle Soup, something I had been dying to sample for most of my life, tasted like a Campbell's can of tomato-based fraud with microscopic cubes of mystery meat playing the role of the tortoise. For years my father has told me that area bars catch turtles and make soup from them. What I had last night came off as storebought and warmed over. Urban myth? Considering the harmless neoteny of these shelled critters, I am ambivalent.
Regardless, consider my experience to be a half-horsed one.
P.S. That shrimp was very good, though, easily beating out the faux (?) crabcakes I had during my last visit.
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