The Lobster Zone

I used to visit a video game arcade in Manhattan’s Chinatown, hoping to confirm murmurings of the presence of a lobster claw machine.  Small chance that the rumored game was a fecund chicken instead of said shellfish, but it was many years ago that I read about it, and I didn’t see any evidence of either version anyway.

Though Chinatown currently is more welcoming to one of these types of claw machines,
I didn’t forget about my original goal.  Numerous visits to Japan, arguably the vending and claw machine capital of the world, proved fruitless.  Maine, the epicenter of lobster fishing in the US, (hopefully?) didn’t have ’em.  Even a trip into my psyche, a place that often comes up with this stuff, turned me away.

Along comes a layover in Las Vegas.  Despite the fact that I consider it one of the most underwhelming cities in the world, it has two arguments to warrant another few-hour stay— eating, and food.  In any event, a fortuitous bus ride from the airport to Fremont St. had me stroll by a restaurant called Mickie Finnz, one of the proud homes of The Lobster Zone.  With prices as low as US$2 per play, who needs blackjack when you’ve got one of the world’s…premier reasons to eat butter.