Monica D.
Yelp
Ah, the Friday night family outings. Once you pass a certain age, you probably shouldn't have to go through such agony requiring you to basically give up your inaugural weekend bender to satisfy the social obligations set up by your vague blood lines. This time, however, great company + cheap booze = good times at the Elks Lodge!
You need to either be a member or know a member. My suggestion: know a member. It's so cool to get 'hooked up' in here. The drinks are HELLA cheap -- $3 for well drinks and wine, up to $5 for the 'top shelf' stuff -- and the bar looks like quite the place to be. My brother, our mom and I joined our uncle and his companions for a good ol' time, complete with lovely full dinner and live band!
Alvin and I split a prime rib and Mom ordered the captain's (catcher's?) platter. Everything we had was tasty -- hot dinner buns, fresh salad, tasty meatball soup, perfectly cooked prime rib, asparagus, twice baked potato (undoubtedly the hidden star of the show), freshly fried seafood, and a nice scoop of spumoni (my faaave) at the end. The food is pretty delicious, and our server, Chad, was really really cool about it all (they seemed to be shorthanded that evening).
The highlight of the night, however, was undoubtedly playing prime spectator to the dance floor. An awesomely wedding-esque band played and everyone danced to their heart's content. We're talking octogenarians and septogenarians strutting their stuff Dancing With the Stars style. My gimpy brother and my fat ass were put to shame with the rumba-ing, mambo-ing, cha-cha-ing and tango-ing (just to name a select few) all around us. Even mom rediscovered her ballroom groove as she hit the dance floor with our uncle. Awesome.
Anyway, all jokes about Depends, white pants, old school prom dresses, blue hair and 'the natural sag' aside, we had a blast at the Elks Lodge this past Friday night. As long as the drinks keep a-flowin' and the dancing shoes keep a-boogeyin', this place is always gonna have a special niche in my heart. -1 star for the A/C, or lack thereof. Two drinks in and I was sweating like Ernest Borgnine on Mile 3 of an Ironman triathlon on a Havana summer's afternoon.