LongHorn Steakhouse

Believe or not, the pouch has never been here before... But this is the review my one literate fan has been waiting for all these years. There's just this aura that surrounds the joint that makes my sphincter clinch and tighten up every time I drive past one... Kinda like that time when this chick with big hair wanted to stick her long ass finger with Lee press on nails in my bunghole during a showing of E.T. at the Starlight Drive-In theatre... Girl, that is exit only and I don't want your nasty plastic nail to break off and cause any blockages... Especially, after eating from the Starlight food shack. Someone needs to make underpants with a mini version of those one way jaws that pops up at the exits at the drive-in so you can't sneak in from the rear to stop them wandering fingers from entering main street. How the fuck did this conversation with myself veer off so wildly into voodoo sex acts... One of us has got a very sick mind here. Speaking of sick... One never knows if they will get ill eating here, so I have never attempted it before, until now...Will the iron pouch survive this initial visit or will it cry in IBS pain like a little bitch with cramps... Jesus Christ, just pass me the Massengill already...

Spicy Chicken Bites and Sweet Corn Fritters. These UFOs look "terrifrying"... As in unidentified frying organisms. Remember when Khan put those Ceti eel larvae in Chekhov'sear... These motherfuckers looked exactly like them! I lurv me some fwied cheekan but these creastures were not spicy and barely passed for chicken and every goddamn thing tastes like chicken, except LongHorn's chicken... Baffling. The corn fritters were just fried dough, shit, I guess it fits the narrative here since LongHorn is basically a carnival sideshow.

Montana Mule Jim Beam bourbon, real ginger purée and fresh lime juice. Someone is late to the party... Only by 6 years. Mules were trendy about the same time as Korean tacos and jeggins... Speaking of which, half the fucking place was wearing Pajama Jeans. Hillybillies love that shit and Uggs. "Masterfully Mixed Mules"... Not from where I was sitting. This mule was a real snoozer. It was basically all ice, a shot of Beam and a cup of Country Time lemonade. I did like the mug, though... But not enough to 5 finger discount it under my moo-moo.

Loaf of Bread. Sweet baby Jesus... This could be the worst thing since sliced bread. It looks like something you would put letters in. That tub of butter looks fresh, sure.

Flo's Filet. 8 ounces of freshly carved yak back... Must admit they cooked it spot on to mid-rare but it was totally unseasoned except for a few specks of dandruff. It was not a horrible piece of meat and was totally acceptable in a trailer park BBQ kinda way. The searing just doesn't make sense, flakes of char here and there but no quadrillage... Someone musta stepped off the line for a minute and the thing leaned over to one side.

Side Salad. You try to be healthy and it fails. Look at the size of those croutons, I can play chess with that shit with a little creative whittling.

Outlaw Ribeye, 18oz and bone-in. Hey look, grill marks! This was a decent size bone-in steak. Once again, they did cook it spot on temp wise. The meat was kinda tender but chewy at the same time. I know they don't source the best meat but for the price, you really can't complain too much. That scoop of mashed taters looks eerily like warts on an udder... It also had the texture when you put it in your mouth.

Ribeye, 11oz. No grill marks. The steak cooking consistency is so far off that it doesn't surprise me that a server could be cooking it while the line cook is on a cigarette break... But even though it looks like a giant breakfast sausage patty, it was actually once again cooked to temp.

Parmesan Crusted Chicken. Why does it look like a dessert... Like some coconut cake with a baked tater and broccoli. There is so much wood pulp parmesan on top of what suppose to be chicken that it looked like a lumberjack plated this up with his special topping of saw dust. There was so much fucking cheese on top of the chicken that I wanted to ask for a side of marinara and linguini. 

I don't know why so many obeast hillbillies lurv this joint... Shit, the bigger question I should be asking is why do fat people love greasy chain restos so much in general? It's like a big moth to a light or flame... Or to a lightly flame grilled piece of meat. The staff looks like they have never washed their uniforms since the first day they got them, it's always filthy with food crusties on their shirts and stains on their pants. Don't fucking dare to look under their nails, you will hurl involuntarily in an instant. The entire time I was here, all I could think of was the movie "Waiting" and what the kitchen staff in the back was fucking doing to the food... Whatever you do, don't order the goat.


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