Margaritaville Holdings, LLC, has just joined forces with Outback Steakhouse, Inc., to open a new restaurant in the middle of a rapidly developing oasis for yuppie boomers and their teenage spawn.

The third of these restaurants to open nationally, Cheeseburger in Paradise (located at 1608 Aspen Commons in Middleton), is set to infuse Jimmy Buffet’s tropical lawlessness with corporate savvy to attract costumers from outside his diehard fan base into the garish beach-themed restaurant.

To promote the restaurant, Buffet played a short set at a small private party to benefit Habitat for Humanity of Dane County on Jan. 14.

When event promoters asked for a viable charity, Madison area Entercom radio stations suggested Habitat for Humanity. Callers inundated radio-station phone lines trying to win an opportunity to buy $150 tickets for the event. The stations also auctioned off tickets, which went for as much as $4,700 for a pair.

“They gave us a ring and said, ‘Would you give us a hand opening this place up?'” said Ron Konkol, publicity director for Habitat for Humanity. “People are always asking me when am I going to get Jimmy Carter to do an event in Dane County. Well, I got the Jimmy part right.”

Konkol was eager to stump for the University of Wisconsin chapter of Habitat.

“Those kids are going to raise $30,000 this year,” Konkol said, and spoke of events such as the annual “Soup-er Bowl” and a benefit concert by Natty Nation at the Barrymore Theater to take place in April.

Through the tax-deductible charity event, Habitat for Humanity was able to raise more than $55,000 to build a new house in their Twin Oaks subdivision on Madison’s southeast side, and another in a foreign country.

“We figure between the food and entertainment, guests easily are getting their money’s worth,” Konkol said.

Once guests arrived with their tickets, they received VIP guest passes in the conical lobby area of the restaurant. The doorway of the restaurant had been flanked for the occasion with giant tubs of Corona, Corona Light and forties of Corona.

The decorum of the restaurant is complete over-the-top surf shack sensory overload. Sections of thatched roof hang over booths and the monstrous bar. The bar was full of auction winners, some looking like they were about to board a cruise ship, some like they just left their upper-middle-management jobs.

The corporate heavyweights behind Outback Steakhouse, Inc., stood sipping Red Stripe and purveying their investment.

The be-lei-ed waitstaff was working banquet duty that night, rushing around to fetch food and drink for everyone, sitting behind banquet tables or circulating with trays of crab cakes, wearing uniforms almost indistinguishable from those of the Outback Steakhouse’s executives.

Hardcore fans who found themselves without a ticket to the event stood on the restaurant’s patio, bundled up like Packer fans and looking in through the glass garage-door wall that makes up one side of the building, with only tiki torches and a view of the sunny decorum inside to guard against the snow and sub-zero temperatures.

“I had 25 people calling into each radio station,” said Scott Manke of Sun Prairie. “My son ended up caller 103 out of 105.”

Manke and his friends helped distract parking-lot security while Chris Bush of Eau Claire parked his Humvee next to the patio for tailgating purposes.

Back inside, Dan Moloy of Louisville’s St. Clair Construction stood toward the back, admiring his handiwork.

“I built this place,” said Moloy. “Have you been up to the bar? You should check it out. It’s really something.”

Moloy was particularly proud of the craftsmanship exhibited in the bar: on top of the poured-cement fixture was a delicate layer of lacquer to preserve the notes Buffet used in writing the infamous song about his favorite bar food.

Wild waving and whoops went up from the diehards standing outside.

“These people go crazy for this stuff,” Moloy muttered, and meandered off into the crowd as Buffet took the stage in a foam cheesehead.

After the obligatory jokes about the cold, the Packers and the infamous debauchery of the Alpine Valley parking lot, Buffet bounced through “Stars on the Water” to open the show. This was a highlight, with the buzzing guitar sputtering and stopping in perfect unison with his backing band, Johnny and the Beach Bums, with whom he had not practiced.

“We’re semi-professional musicians,” Buffet said. “Actually, I just hope you’ve all been drinking enough to look past the lack of rehearsal.”

The Beach Bums appeared to be a talented group who had no problem staying within the lines of Buffet’s tight rock songs. Buffet seemed especially appreciative of their ability to trade instruments around to allow for fiddle playing on “Get Drunk and Screw.”

“I think this is the first time since I’ve wrote this song I’ve sung it in sub-zero temperatures,” Buffet said before launching into his ode to hockey games and cold weather, “Boat Drinks.” This was far and away the high point of the short set, as the lyrics’ tale of fevered-pitch cabin fever was mirrored by the scene of red-faced partiers back-dropped by dark blue snowiness outside. The simple melody fit perfectly with the stripped-down sound of the makeshift band.

Indeed, the best parts of Buffet’s charity show were lost on the audience, who beat him to the chorus on his more popular songs. Buffet’s songs are light-hearted tunes that could serve as modern sea shanties, but are instead memorized and mythologized by legions of fans.

Buffet left immediately after the show in a limo, signing autographs for the fans out on the frigid patio on his way out.

“The best part was Jimmy knew we were out here,” Bush said after soliciting a handshake and an autograph from Buffet. “He kept acknowledging us and even brought a girl in to sing onstage. I think I had more fun outside than the people did inside.”

The consummate showman, Buffet performs in a way that can make everyone at a sold-out Alpine Valley show feel included. But the biggest problem with his latest restaurant venture is translating that same sort of individual attention to food service.

Like Outback, Cheeseburger in Paradise is a chain restaurant that excels in freshness, but suffers greatly from the heavy conceptualization.

Our waiter recited what was clearly a scripted greeting: “Welcome to Cheeseburger in Paradise. My name is ___. I’ll be your islander today.”

I’ll be your islander today? Does he really have to say that to each table?

Shortly after preparing our drink orders, the whole waitstaff had to participate in some sort of cultish chanting ritual, a la Cold Stone Creamery. Disgusting.

The food, on the other hand, was fairly tasty. The namesake dish was solid on all fronts, but lacked the certain intangibles of a truly great burger. The ribs, jerk chicken wings, Cuban sandwiches, crab cakes and key lime pie were especially tasty.

Cheeseburger in Paradise has a number of other draws to ensure Parrotheads will not be their only customers, and the wait on a Saturday will always be an hour. Live music every night, a varied selection of dishes uncommon to these parts (including conch fritters, gumbo, fried oysters, and blackened tilapia) and a bar menu at least 10 pages long will keep the party going.