Settling For Branson? Then You Might Enjoy Lambert’s.
December 7th, 2009 · No Comments
(You might want to shield your mouth too while you’re at it).
You’re at Lambert’s: The Official Home of Throwed Rolls [sic] and the Unofficial Sponsor of the Pannus. That’s right, seeing a flock of morbidly obese consumers waddling by comes as standard as the mugs containing a refillable 52 ounces(!) of soda.
On our recent trip to Springfield, Missouri, our extended family generously offered to take us to this food circus to honor the memory of Travel Boyfriend’s mom who enjoyed it here. After our hour and 15-minute wait outside in the frigid elements, our cousin whispered, “Why couldn’t your mom’s favorite place have been a take-out pizza joint?”
But soon enough we were shown to our wooden pens for fattening. When first enlightened about this place, I have to admit I was excited. They serve traditional Southern Food and toss rolls as you while you eat. What’s not to love? But not long into it, as roaming waiters spooned flavorless fried okra onto paper towels used as makeshift appetizer plates, and I saw the mass engorgement happening all around me, this Travel Betty just became incredibly, horribly depressed.
The sheer amount of food foisted upon you is ridiculous. The meals themselves are served in skillets. Not ironic skillet-inspired plates, but actual filled-to-the-brim, industrial-sized cooking skillets.
Our poor waitress must have been new because her wrist was literally shaking as she served us our oversized sodas. When she returned with the food tray, her body bent back severely into a letter “C,” she crashed the whole deal down on the table squishing a handful of our recently throwed rolls.
Tip: A human shouldn’t consume what another human can’t carry!
As we ate, the staff was busy serving even more food (free sides of the aforementioned okra, fried potatoes, black-eyed peas, white beans and others in addition to the sides that already come in your skillet), with one woman following behind the roll thrower trilling, “Sor-ghuuuum Mol-asssssses” with a ladle and a smile. Then, after we’d over-eaten to the point of bursting, our waitress came back to ask innocently, “Who’s up for seconds, y’all?”
Why does this place exist, you might ask? Well, my theory is because Lambert’s has a good gimmick and is strategically located along the road to Branson. So every day busloads of people stop here, apparently under the misconception that Branson itself is a food-free town. Then sated, they leave happy to subject themselves to the Ozarkian delights of entertainers who inspire remarks such as, “Huh, I thought he died.” (Andy Williams, anyone?) Or perhaps you’d be surprised to know Yakov Smirnoff has yet to be deported. Not only is that last statement true, but the guy is now rich beyond any of our wildest dreams.
Life = Not fair sometimes.
When it was all said and done and I was writing out my check (Lambert’s doesn’t take credit cards for some quaint and downhome-y reason), I found myself getting sick at the thought of how much food must be wasted each day (on top of the sickening thought of how much is actually consumed).
“I hope to GOD they compost,” I said to Travel Boyfriend.
“You’re adorable,” he replied.
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