I've been dining at Red Drum for over twenty years, long enough to remember when a last-minute…read morereservation on a Tuesday felt like winning the lottery. So when my family and I received some truly remarkable medical news this week, the kind of victory you save for a proper toast, Red Drum was the obvious choice. What better place to celebrate a long-awaited milestone than with familiar faces and a pork chop I've trusted since the era of dial-up internet?
Well. About that pork chop.
Two of us ordered the longtime menu staple. We expected the same giant, butcher's-best chop that has anchored the plate forever. What arrived instead felt like someone had rewritten a classic without reading the original. Gone were the lovely fresh tomatoes and potatoes, the bright bites that used to sing alongside the chop, along with the subtle demi that once tied everything together. In their place, Brussels sprouts were doing a full backstroke in an acid bath.
And not, unfortunately, the fun kind of acid bath. I would have been fine with the sprouts but this sauce...
The sauce was so sharp and dominant that it steamrolled the pork entirely. Since it made up the entire base of the dish, there was no escaping it. I later learned there were supposed to be potatoes mixed in, hash-style, but my portion must have pulled a vanishing act because not a single potato was found. My dining partner fared no better. Between the two of us, the equivalent of an entire pork chop went back to the kitchen. When we told our server the sauce tasted "off," she reacted with all the urgency of someone being told their shoelace is untied. There was no concern, no apology, and no curiosity.
Our third diner ordered the salmon. He said it was very good, and the corn pudding was too, but even he missed the potato that used to round out the plate. For forty-one dollars, he said the meal felt "undercut," and I agree. When the most satisfied person at the table feels shorted, that is not great.
Dessert was a bright spot. The hot butter rum toffee and the doughnuts hit the mark. By then, however, I was too busy fuming, more effectively than the pork, over the indifference that hung over the whole evening. No manager ever came by. I am not convinced our feedback reached anyone. By the time the bill arrived, it felt like our waitress wanted us to pay, smile, and scurry along.
This was when the night took another strange turn.
As she handed me the check, I asked about a familiar husband and wife duo who had served at Red Drum for years. They were beloved, memorable, and unmistakably professional. Anyone who has eaten at Red Drum even semi-regularly knows exactly who I mean. They were fixtures. I asked if they were working that night so I could say hello. The waitress casually told me they had been gone for some time and had left under "not good circumstances."
That was when my eyebrows reached escape velocity.
If you know Red Drum, the Red Drum of years past, you know that couple. You know the level of professionalism, the consistency, and the connection they brought to the room. You know they were not the "leave under not good circumstances" type. The comment felt off, unnecessary, and frankly a little concerning. It made me wonder what has really changed behind the scenes and what regulars will think when they read this.
By then, curiosity pushed me to look around the room. It was nearly empty. It was 6:45 p.m. on a Tuesday. Yes, a weeknight, but dinner hour all the same. In years past, this place buzzed no matter the night. You could not get a last-minute reservation without divine intervention. Suddenly the ease of getting one this time made a whole lot more sense.
I genuinely wanted this to be a triumphant return, a full-circle moment after a long illness and a day of wonderful news. Instead, it was a sobering reminder that somewhere along the way, Red Drum lost the plot, and maybe a lot more than its potatoes.
After reflecting on our experience, I called the restaurant to share my concerns, but three business days have passed without a return call.
