They call <\#213>em fat cats for a reason. The hey-big-spenders who traditionally sup at Busch's Groveand we do mean traditionally, as this bastion of all things gluttonous has been around since the century before last, aside from a three-year dormancy that ended earlier this yeardo so with gusto. They gorge themselves on whole fried lobsters (advertised for two or morepshaw!), king crab legs the size of a child's arm, grilled double lamb chops, double-cut pork chops and 22-ounce cowboy rib-eyes. They complement those big-boy slabs of flesh with over-the-top sides like the onion ring tower, jumbo buttered asparagus, and all manner of spuds (garlic mashed, roasted new, hashed and browned, just plain baked). As for the menu's South Beach-friendly "simply grilled" seafood selectionsthose are for the ladies-who-lunch who prefer to do in their waistlines via the bar's cutesy-tinis, so sugary they may as well be melted ice cream served straight up. After the feast has ended, Busch's Grove diners don't even bother walking off a couple of calories on the way to the car. That's what valets are for, dammit.