There's a Crouton in the Mashed Potatoes

Have you ever been to one of those "buffet style" restaurants? There are those of the quaint variety....mostly elderly people....a line of workers behind glass shielding help your plate as you make selections. You can start off with the green jello salad before moving on to the corn on the cob and sliced roast beef. Everything looks fairly sanitary and well organized. Everyone is calm. Everything is how it should be. Yeah, those aren't the type I'm referring to. Normally, I try to stay away from these places. My experience the other night at the local Golden Corral reminded me why.

When I was a kid, my dad was a corporate interior designer. One of his many ongoing projects was the Ryan's Steakhouse chain. Apparently, this was one of the first popular buffet joints. It actually was a pretty nice place to go....15-20 years ago. Anyway, I suppose in support of my dad's creative efforts, our family dined there often. To my brothers and I, the smorgasbord set up before us was the epitome of excitement. It was almost too good to be true. My mother always kept us on pretty regimented diets. We weren't allowed to eat fun, kiddy cereals. Only the boring, no sugar kinds. We had balanced meals....vegetables and fruit were always included. And desert was allowed only if we cleared our plates first. But at Ryan's we were allowed to let loose with reckless abandon. There was always a sick contest to see who could make the most trips for seconds; thirds; or even fourths. This contest was never fair, of course. I was no match for the boys.

It was on one particular visit that I set my mind to becoming the Champion All-You-Can-Eat-er. You've all heard the expression "eyes too big for the stomach", right? Sometimes those sayings aren't crap, after all. I had become so focused on the finish line, I didn't stop to evaluate the progression of my fullness. When it finally became clear that I absolutely COULD NOT win, I dropped my fork with a bitter hesitation. I sat in silence as the rest of the family finished their runny ice cream and stale brownies. Slowly, menacingly; with a panther-like stealthness; a rumbling began in my tummy. Before I knew what was happening, I was vomiting onto the cleared plate that sat before me. My parents and brothers, who had obviously stopped eating at this point, stared at me....mid-chew....motionless. When the awful wretching was over, I looked around me and immediately broke into tears. Quickly "shooshing" me, my parents covered the puke with a thin layer of cheap cloth napkins and herded us out of there as if rabid turkeys were attacking nearby tables. Good thing we paid BEFORE we ate. We never returned to that Ryan's, but I've always felt sorry for the bus boy that must have cleared our table after we left. Poor bastard probably turned in his resignation that very night.

So...when I was invited to tag along to Golden Corral the other night, I wasn't very excited. Since the Ryan's incident, I've only gone to restaurants of this type when forced. (i.e. various bus trips in college when buffets would be quickest for the 30-ish people aboard) Upon entering, it became immediately clear to me that I wasn't in the necessary mindset to enjoy the upcoming meal. I sat down at our table with the tray and silverware that had been handed to me; and was almost nervous to begin my food-finding. Nobody else in the restaurant seemed to be experiencing the same feelings. The scene resembled the giant goldfish ponds you see at zoos and parks. You know the kind.......you drop bread in the water, and dozens of fish swim all over each other; all with their big slimy lips opening and closing in unison; all intensely focused on the one morsel of bread; all oblivious to the other fish. It's a sight that disgusts and frightens me, to be perfectly honest.

Even though I am QUITE the sophisticated socialite (and WAY above such establishments), I eventually did dive into the pond, if you will. As I strolled around to check out the available food choices, I was disappointed. Confused. Nothing looked palatable. In fact, not much even looked edible. But people were rushing from one bar to another in a rushed panic. I was bumped about a half dozen times by individuals wanting nothing more in life but another scoop of mashed potatoes or another drizzle of ranch dressing on their wilted salad. I made it back to my table with a small helping of macaroni and cheese and a piece of "roasted" chicken.

As I sat and ate, I was totally distracted by everything around me. There were plates piled high on each table...people were stuffing themselves silly just because they could. I watched as children, adolescents, and adults alike cleared helping after helping of fried okra, cherry pie, buttery rolls, chili covered nachos, and then back for more pie. I noticed that many of the families/couples/etc. weren't even making conversation with one another. They were eating in silence; eyes fixated on their silverware. A large man in Harley t-shirt with the sleeves cut off sat near me. He had two plates of barbecued ribs before him. His wife and little daughter attempted to talk to him, but to no avail. Their heads could have caught fire, and he would have kept on shoveling it in; stopping only to gulp Dr.Pepper from the giant cup that the server refilled every 5 minutes or so. He had barbecue sauce in his beard and on his shirt. Irrationally, I wanted to yell at him, but I wasn't sure why. I forced myself to look in another direction, and spotted a large group of kids clamoring around the salad bar....digging in with their fingers....eating straight off the line and licking their fingers as they went. Nobody seemed to mind this but me. This was the last straw. I could take no more. I apologized sincerely to my dinner-mates and high-tailed it out to my car. My senses were on overload....and not in a good way. Any more stimuli, and I would have been gathering napkins once again.

On my way out, I passed the kids devouring the salad bar. The tallest boy in the group had a mouthful of sesame seeds. Placing my hand on the nape of his neck, I slammed his head against the heat lamp and laughed as the seeds flew out of his mouth and into the peach syrup. It made the whole experience worth while.