|
Claim Jumper
1981 Diamond Blvd
Concord, CA 94520
(925) 798-4300
Casually criticized: 1/18/04
Why we went there
The Casual Critics' history with Claim Jumper is a long, rich, vast, deep one. It's like a woman to us...except we're allowed to come back. We've been going to Claim Jumper for over a decade, enticed by food items of gargantuan proportions, sush as: the Mother Lode, a sandwich so tall that it contains more alfalfa sprouts than the average person is likely to see in a lifetime, and the legendary Ore Cart, which features meat from such animals as chicken, pig, and cow, served with a piece of lettuce.
Mark's sister, knowing how he likes to gorge upon tons of flesh and meat, as well as eat at restaurants, gave him a $25 gift card for Claim Jumper with the sole instruction of also wearing the shirt she bought him when he went to the restaurant, which he neglected to do. Thank you, sis! (All he had to do was wear the freakin' shirt.)
Service
As usual, we waited at least 20 minutes to be seated after we were given our clever Gold Rush name, which was so clever we can't remember what it was now. The hostess, one of a gaggle of girls at the front desk (average age: 8), appeared out of nowhere and the wench seemed irritated that we did not follow her immediately to our "trough." Upon seating us, she recited, "Welcome to Claim Jumper. Hope you enjoy your dinner. Your server will be right with you." Completely monotone. No eye contact. Irritated.
Enter Todd. Fresh faced, spiky haired, overly exuberant, and confirmed (we'll explain later). Todd was very attentive. Extremely attentive. Overly attentive - Mark wanted to kill him attentive. He did the dreaded "two-bite check back" followed by the "ten-bite check back" and eventually the "no-bite check back." Essentially he was sitting at the table with us. He asked questions such as, "How is everything? (x3) Can I get you anything else? (x5) How does it taste? (x10)" Like an eager puppy, he would wag his tail when we would reply, "Yes Todd, everything tastes great!" When asked if the appetizer contained any kind of peanut product, he responded that he would "double confirm" that it did not. Upon his return, he "confirmed that he had confirmed" it did not.
When Darron tapped his au jus container with his fork, admittedly because he wanted more but was afraid to pronounce it incorrectly, Todd returned with a vat of it and said, "Here's your au jewey!"
During the course of our meal, a mysterious and pale, somber looking fellow dressed all in black slowly shuffled his way over to our table, and in Quasimoto-fashion he solemnly inquired, "Although I may be near death, how does your food taste? It is my dying wish that you enjoy your food." Not wanting to disappoint him, we told him that not only was our food exemplary, but Todd would do him proud once he was gone. We are still not sure if Dr. Death worked there or not.
Fun Factor
It's fun there. They have checkers in the waiting area. It is Gold Rushy, and it's always amazing to see how much food they will give you. Darron was particularly intrigued by the pulley-operated ceiling fans.
Dr. Death made our dining experience much more fun than usual because we, at least, have the rest of our lives to look forward to.
Food
We started off with the firecracker shrimp taquitos, six for $9.95. Tasty, but not worth the price. They were not up to the normal Claim Jumper proportions and we were not satisfied with Todd's explanation that the shrimp usually cost $4.50 a piece; a number he seemingly pulled out of his ass, whilst his tail was wagging.
Mark ordered the meatball sandwich, fork and knife version. It was $8.95 and very tasty. Mark was able to order any kind of fries he wanted, and he chose the steak fries. He added on a cup of tortilla soup. All was delicious, but he couldn't finish, as usual. His dinner probably weighed 2 and half pounds total. Child's play.
Darron ordered the "24 oz. prime rib," medium well (Prime rib, gosh darn it!) with the potato cheese cakes (highly recommended) and a very large blueberry muffin. Halfway through his meal, Darron exclaimed, "This is the weirdest prime rib I've ever had." To which Mark retorted, "It looks like pot roast to me." To which Darron retorted, "Well, it does kind of have the texture of pot roast. It does look like pot roast. It does taste like pot roast. But I think it's prime rib." At which point Darron offered Mark a taste. "Mmmm.... that's some good pot roast," retorted Mark. Darron, still not convinced, continued to power his way through all 60 oz. When it looked like Darron was slowing down, Mark retorted, "You're not going to finish?" Darron retorted, "It's getting monotonous." And Mark retorted, "What? Eating?"
Seeing as how 30 seconds had passed since his last check-in, Todd returned to our table to ask, with a smirk on his face and making quotes in the air with his fingers, "How's that 'prime rib' taste?" "Yes Todd, everything tastes great!" we retorted.
Bang for Your Buck
Darron's "prime rib" dinner cost more than everything else combined. Seeing as how we had the $25 gift card, the meal seemed even more reasonably priced than usual. Claim Jumper is a bit expensive, but unless you're Darron, you basically do get 2 meals per serving. Darron did retort that he could eat more after his 60 oz. pot roast.
It was worth the 120 mile drive to Concord and back.
Miscellaneous
Did we mention we drove 120 miles round trip for Darron to get a $27 pot roast?
Overall
Mark: 4 out of 5 women's open-toed shoes
I have and always will love Claim Jumper because I always get what I order. I've always loved the amount of food you get and how great it tastes. It has a really fun atmosphere. I disliked the wait to sit and some things are overpriced, but I highly recommend you try Claim Jumper, no matter how far you have to drive.
Darron: 3 out of 5 Hawaiian shirts 
Despite spending $27 for a pot roast masquerading as prime rib, I still count myself among Claim Jumper's fans. Claim Jumper nearly lost my business when they emasculated the Mother Lode, changing it from a very manly foot-tall sandwich into a Mark Warren Clemens-esque miniature. But still I came back for more. Today, I am left to ask myself one of life's eternal questions, "Why did they give me a $27 pot roast?" I may never know the answer.
|
