The Meal Aziz Ansari Ate Before He Did the Claw on that Woman: An Investigative Report

Sometime in 2017, Aziz Ansari stuck his index finger and his middle finger into his mouth and then shoved them into the vagina of an anonymous woman who later wrote about the experience for babe dot com. 

Sometime in 2019, Aziz Ansari walked out to the cool refreshing sounds of Lou Reed's voice and performed a standup set about how much things started to suck for him after he did the maneuver previously mentioned (now dubbed by upwardly mobile urban youth as the claw). 

Sometime in 2021, after JFK Jr. crawls onto the shore of Martha's Vineyard and becomes the first and last Ayatollah of America he will make sure that Aziz Ansari is the first Get Him to the Greek cast-member to be put to the sword. This much is known.

Pictured: the meal

Like it or not, the photo taken at the dinner by the anonymous claw-ee is probably the single greatest piece of photographic art created in the 21st century. It's unprentious and yet still incredibly profound. It feels like an image I have seen a million times before and will see a million times again before the day I die. Wheater you know it or not, it is so deeply ingrained in the collective subconscious that some people might only know things made that refer back to things that refer back to it. You dream about the picture. If you think you don't, you do. You just don't know it yet.

The now famous "Aziz Ansari lobster roll dinner photo" has been a constant presence in my own life since the day I first saw it. I would say that it exists as something like a Zapruder film for our time. Recently I got to thinking. How much do I actually know about the photo?

The anonymous woman quoted in Babe says that Aziz took her to a "historic NYC oyster bar" named Grand Banks. I knew what had to be done immediately. I called up the restaurant and was promptly directed to their off-site offices. I've included a rough transcript of our conversation over the phone below. 

Poor woman who works in the office of the "historic NYC oyster bar" Grand Banks: Hello. This is the office of Grand Banks, a historic NYC oyster bar.

Brave Journalist: Hello. How are you doing?

PWWWITOOTHNYCOBGB: I'm doing well. Thank you. How about you?

BJ: Great. My name is Theodore Fukuyama-Greenberg. I'm an investigative reporter from the Philadelphia Herald. I'm writing a story about the connections between the fishing industry and the events of January 6th. Did you know that somewhere between 4-6% of people arrested in connection to the riots had some affiliation with either the fishing or seafood business?

PWWWITOOTHNYCOBGB: I had no clue. Wow.

BJ: I was wondering if I could get a copy of your menu from...I don't know...maybe the summer of 2017? It would really help out with some of the research.

PWWWITOOTHNYCOBGB: Hmmm. I don't know if we keep records of menus. I don't know how much I could help you out with that. 

BJ: I understand. I just want to let you know we think that we're really close to something here. Something that we think can fundamentally change both the fabric of American society and the seafood industry forever...and for the better. If you can find any menu from 2017, and I mean anything, you'll bring us all the more closer to figuring out what really happened on that day. You'd be doing me a small service but you'd also be doing a huge favor for all Americans.

PWWWITOOTHNYCOBGB: Let me talk to my boss real quick.

I was placed on a brief five-minute hold.

PWWWITOOTHNYCOBGB: Okay, I called my boss and he called the IT guy and he did some digging. We have a PDF of the menu from 2017 on an email that was archived but never deleted. I can email that to you right away.

BJ: Thank you so much! You're the best.

PWWWITOOTHNYCOBGB: No, you're the best. Who knows what would happen to this country without the work of you brave journalists?

BJ: It's all part of a day's work ma'am. My email is theodorefukuyamagreenberg@gmail.com. Looking forward to hearing from you later today.

A few minutes later she sent me a PDF of the very same document that Aziz held in his hands that fateful summer night. 

Before we get any further, let's first take stock of what exactly is visible in the picture. Four plates (two for serving and two for appetizers), two forks, two knives, one glass of white wine, one glass of water, a lobster roll, what I'm guessing is a side salad (not listed anywhere on the menu but mentioned in the article), a plate of fries with two dipping sauces (spiced ketchup and sage aïoli according to the menu), and a portion of Aziz Ansari's torso.

From this, we can begin to guess how much Aziz Ansari paid for dinner.

$26 for the Lobster Roll

$8 for the French Fries

$60 for a bottle of white wine¹.

After a 20% tip and the 8.875% tax that New York City puts on processed food, the total comes out to $122.81². 

The more you look at the image the less things make sense. What is Aziz doing eating a lobster roll on a date? Why do those french fries look so busted? Why is this Google banner three dollar sign restaurant serving wine out of stemless Ikea wine glasses? Why is the anonymous woman's silverwear at that angle. That seems like the exact angle that silverwear would never end up at. Is this some kind of heterosexual hanky code³?

I was stuck at this impass for a while, just staring down the barrel of Aziz's inner elbow, racking my brain for some path forward. Then it hit me.

Claw. Lobster Claw. The lobster claw. 

Celebraties aren't twisted enough to think they're just entitled to eat a lunch food like a lobster roll for dinner. A person who owns the amount of Criterion Blurays as Aziz must have the brain power to think 20 to 30 steps ahead. Once you realize this one sick truth the whole image cracks wide open.

Aziz planted the article. 

Using his expert level reasoning, he anticipated the second wave of #MeToo allegations. Moreover, he foresaw the wave of "soft-cancelation" that would forever change the media landscape. He knew that planting a story in babe dot com would both earn him some social capitol in some circles and buy him some time to really slam it out of the park with Master of None Presents: Moments in Love (now steaming on Netflix). It was all part of the plan.

At that exact moment, right as I realized the grand macinations behind Aziz's dinner, my landline phone began to ring. I didn't even know that I had a landline phone. 

The mystery caller had a high pitched energetic voice. I've tried my best to transcribe the conversation below but to be honest my hands were shaking and my memory is very blurry.

Mystery Caller: HEY! It's uh...Sha...Shasmeez. Shasmeez Agave.

Brave Journalist: Hi. Hello.

MC: There's word going around on the street that you're asking questions. Stinking your nose in places they might not belong.

BJ: I have no clue what you're talking about.

MC: Sage aïoli is a perfectly normal sauce to dip fries in. Yes the fries do look like they would be served at an ice skating rink! That's the point. It's ironic! It's loving pastiche! Just like what Aziz Ansari did with Bicycle Theif and Fellini movies in the award winning season opener of the second season of Master of None. It's all intentional. 

BJ: Who is this? Who is this really?

MC: I could make you're like a living hell but I really don't want to do that! Do you know how many open micers I could sic on you? How many podcast hosts would listen to my every order no matter how violent or insane it sounded? Some of those podcasts are pretty well listened to in Philadelphia too. Lots of listeners in Philadelphia. You don't know how deep this goes. You're playing with forces you couldn't even begin to understand. You ever wonder what happened to Raaaaaaaandy⁴? You don't know how quickly I can make someone disappear.

BJ: Why didn't they send me a wine list? What are you hiding?

MC: You're making a mistake. Stop investigating the "historic NYC oyster bar" Grand Banks. Stop investigating the dinner that Aziz had that night. Stop calling attention to the positions of the forks. Stop doing your brave journalistic inquiries. Even if it means that democracy must die in darkness, stop asking questions!

BJ: Listen here Shasmeez and listen good. The people have a right to know. That's what a journalist does. He knows things and then writes them down so other people can know them too. He digs deep into the swollen infected wound of truth and finds the juciest little pus nodules to share with the world. 

The mystery caller groaned and hung up the phone. 

What do we know about what happened that day at that "historic NYC oyster bar?" What invisible forces guide the hand of comedy? Who orders a lobster roll for dinner on a date? Some of these questions might never be answered. What I can tell you is this though. I will continue to report the truth until the day I die.

This is Theodore Fukuyama-Greenberg from the Philadelphia Herald signing off.

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1 Unfortunately the wine list was not included in the PDF I received. The anonymous woman interviewed for the article specifically says that Aziz ordered the entire bottle. There's one bottle of white wine listed on the menu at the time of writing priced at $62. For the rest of the article, I'm going to go ahead and assume that the bottle of wine that day was priced at $60 based on inflation.^↩
2 If Aziz Ansari came to the restaurant I waited tables at and didn't tip 20% I probably would have gone out and gunned down Ringo Starr while holding a DVD copy of Master of None Season 2^↩
3 Adrian would like you to know that they came up with the joke hetrosexual hanky code. I will say I pointed out the silverwear.^↩
4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKwiz7451OY^↩