Ryan's Random Pick: Albie's Beef Inn

It came to my attention last week after watching Loveshark pour through the dozen some odd racks at AMVETS in an overly excited search for a blue polyester blazer that my life is less than normal.

Wait, I take that back. I had this revelation long before my three-hour stint at a thrift store in the middle of I-don’t-know-where-San-Diego.

To be perfectly honest, I didn’t mind in the least that we spent nearly half a Saturday perusing the perimeter of an enormous brick warehouse amongst toothless meth addicts and overweight Mexican children. I once sleepwalked through my bathroom and into the bed of the girl in the neighboring dorm room in nothing but my underwear and a Tom Petty t-shirt where I then proceeded to spend the next 12 hours spooning her. If that is normalcy, then I am Jesus Christ in human form.

Fortunately, this day made me realize that the absurd oddities of my daily life could actually prove to be cause for the weekly blog that I have desperately been trying to put together.

After our lengthy excursion at AMVETS, Loveshark and I decided that we were in dire need of food. Correction: I forgot to pack him fruit snacks, which in turn caused his blood sugar level to pummel way below the normal suggested limit, which in turn made me wish I was behind the wheel rather than him.

“I knew we shouldn’t have gone to Flashbacks,” he said through seriously gritted teeth. “We should have just gone somewhere to get food.”

“Well, let’s go get something now babe,” I said cheerfully, in a hopeful attempt to ease his overt hostility. “What sounds good to you?”

Without turning his head from the windshield to acknowledge me, he stared straight forward into the distance and inquisitively pondered the question.

“We’re going to the Beef Inn.”

“I’m sorry….the what?!”

“The Beef Inn. It’s in Hotel Circle. Remember, we passed it earlier?”

“Oh right, I’m so silly! How on earth could I possibly have missed the good ol’ Beef Inn?” I sarcastically mocked.

Five minutes later we were pulling into the parking lot of a dilapidated Travelodge where two adjacent signs proudly displayed “Albie’s Beef Inn” and “Adam’s Steak & Eggs.”

Loveshark took one look at the signs and shot me an energetic grin as he hopped out of the car.

“Oh ya, we’re definitely coming back for breakfast this weekend,” he declared while nodding his head in approval of the two blatant displays. Oh Jesus, here…we…go.

For those of you who don’t know Loveshark, let me begin by saying that he has an overly obsessive fixation with the elderly. Most people our age would find this absolutely wacko, but being the freak of nature that I am, I find it to be rather fascinating. Hence, he loves taking me to restaurants that the normal 20-something would never think to step foot in. Think men in sweater vests and entire menus dedicated to early bird specials.

Walking out of the five o’clock sunshine and into the dimly-lit dark wood paneled cave, it took only one quick glance at Loveshark’s bulging bug eyes to realize that he had died and gone to heaven.

The walls were covered in shoddy canvas oil paintings of naked women which looked as if they had been stolen straight from DLand’s Haunted House, dusty antique chandeliers older than the Crypt Keeper hung delicately above each of the black leather booths and a massive blue marlin severely similar to the uberly tacky display fixated above my grandparent’s fireplace, hung daintily on the exposed brick wall. Some heaven indeed it was…

We followed the maître D’ past the piano bar (might I add that Loveshark nearly drooled from being in such close proximity) into the coldest room I have ever set foot in, and took a seat in an oversized, uncomfortable booth.

I’ve been lead to believe over the years, that most people go to dinner to enjoy a quality meal and engage in an enlightening conversation. Unfortunately for me – or maybe I should say fortunately – my out-to-dinner experiences with Loveshark never involve such things.

From the moment he dissected the laminated menu up to the nanosecond that he eyeballed a questionably prehistoric couple that entered the room and slowly shuffled over to the table across from us, I knew that the fake plant resting behind my right shoulder would provide more dialogue than my dear, sweet Loveshark. Note to self: bring a book with 1,000 surplus pages on our next so-called date.

Being that I have a seriously sickening obsession with food, I was completely caught off guard when the food turned out to be rather tasty. Granted, I only ordered a Greek salad – my earlier fear being that I would contract a disease from a meat dish when the waitress told us that well-done actually meant rare to their “executive chef” – but I deduced that the generous serving of feta cheese was the sole reasoning for this way of thinking.

Three bread baskets, an open-faced steak sandwich slathered in cheddar cheese, a diet coke and an iced tea later, Loveshark was ready to take on the dessert menu. If there’s anything that we share a mutual affinity for in life, it’s anything induced in saccharin. Thus, we just had to try the giant slice of carrot cake garnished with a mound of rich whipped cream.

And oh my holy f*cking hell was it as sweet as a kiss from eight-pound, six ounce newborn baby Jesus himself.

By the time we paid our bill and I heard Loveshark remark for the umpteenth time how he hoped his house would one day be fashioned in décor similar to that of Albie’s, I nearly sprinted to the front door so that I could finally return to the land of the living.

Thanks for the memories Albie! It’s been real.

Where our abnormal adventures will take us next week, I haven’t the slightest clue, but I’m always up for any awkward suggestions…as if Loveshark doesn’t have a plethora of them up his sleeve already.

Until next time folks…

Unfaithfully yours,
Ryan

Read more of Ryan’s adventures SD Fair: Of Fun Houses and Funnel Cake.

Discover more San Diego restaurants and follow our dining blog for tips and trends.