Feeding Frenzy

We just got back from an extended weekend in southern Texas visiting my parents. Snowbirds since they retired about 8 years ago, the first few years they would migrate to Florida for the winters. The last few though have been to Texas. Enjoying the lifestyle more in Texas, last year they bought a home and plan to take up permanent residence in the Rio Grande Valley (RGV as it is referred to there). We always enjoyed going to see them in January or February, when winters are coldest in Dallas Texas.

The new home is situated in a rather quiet and quaint community of about 80 or so other retirees. They are just a half mile from a major service road and mere minutes from a few robust shopping centers, and just 45 minutes from an international airport, so it makes going to see them very simple. During our visit we had a good time getting to meet some of the neighbors, seeing some of their new places of interest and just hanging out and catching up. One of those things that makes the hanging out and visiting aspect so enjoyable is talking about and planning when and where you eat.

As it turns out, there were a few memorable meals as we did dine on some mighty fine brisket in a B-B-Q joint that their next door neighbors own. But the local ‘name your chain’ breakfast buffet was a different story altogether. The experience was surreal and I think gave me a bit of bacterial poisoning. 48 hours after eating there I am still suffering from some gastrointestinal unpleasantness. Let me elaborate on the experience.

The national ‘name your chain’ marquee read “All day everyday Breakfast Buffet just $4.99.” Since this restaurant was along the route back to the airport we planned to stop there and eat on the morning we were to fly back to Dallas. Neither of my parents had previously been to this specific chain, so there were no preconceived expectations. But the more I thought about that simple advertisement; I couldn’t help but think there was so much one can read into it. Something so plain and ordinary can be interpreted in so many ways.

Let me start by saying I’m not a buffet kind of guy to begin with, although I have been to a few trough meals that while being very inexpensive have ranged from pretty darn good to those where food is under or over cooked, tasteless, and in limited to nonexistent quantities. But this morning’s experience would have nothing to do about the culinary experience. No, it would be more about a crossroads of a wide ranging assortment of people where the bounty was abundant and in never ending supply. It was a perfect storm for a miserable dining experience.

We noticed as we parked and walked towards the entrance that the waiting area was standing room only; we couldn’t even get in through the doors. “At least it was popular with the locals” I thought. After we fought our way through milling about retirees, future World’s Greatest Losers, some seedy looking folks and those wanting to pay, we made it to the waiting list counter and a grumpy waitress who took our name and party size. “Maybe five minute wait” she said. I didn’t believe her, but who was I to argue.

In the seven minutes we actually did wait, I watched about another 30 people come in, and about 40 people exit.  It was a case study in maximizing meals served vs. minimizing time of seat occupancy. I was impressed. During the wait I also watched the lines at the single buffet bar remain about the same length. And the buffet bar was almost centrally located along the main foot traffic route of the dining room. Not ideal, but it only seemed to bother those not at a table. Yet upon closer inspection, it started to seem most people were either getting in line for food or returning with plates heaped high.

Our waitress grabbed menus and walked us zig zag nilly willy to our table. The reason we took the less than direct route was due to two things; how the tables were arranged and the occupants themselves. In most cases each table could occupy four diners. And at those tables the one and three diners (directly opposite one another) at table E could easily reach over and help themselves to French toast sticks or hash browns being enjoyed at adjacent tables A & C.  And diners two and four at that same table E could just as easily sample the eggs or sausage links from adjacent tables B & D. But while the tables were in fact that cramped together, many of the diners were so big they sat equidistant from their own table and the one opposite their chair. It was making me claustrophobic just approaching our dining spot.

Arriving at said spot I noticed there was only one chair available. While we were waiting for the others to be pulled from surrounding tables, I heard a plastic glass on the table behind me get knocked over and a mother cuss her child. About 5 seconds later I began to feel a cold sensation running down my right leg. “Ah” I thought as I looked down towards the floor. “It’s only 32 ounces of grape juice pooling around my shoe.” I turned to see a little boy, 3 or 4 years old, peeking over his chair back at my leg, then my face. Expecting to see the boy mortified with an angry mother franticly cleaning up the spill, I found one of dull curiosity staring blankly at me. Thinking quickly about what I could say to put the lad at ease, I noticed I couldn’t discern which of the three ladies he was with had just cussed him like a salty sailor because they were busy gorging themselves on bacon and biscuits, not missing a beat. I abandoned any hope of a reply and eagerly took the last available seat.

After we placed our drink orders and I hastily blotted at my pant leg with the lone feeble napkin my utensils were wrapped in, I got up with my wife and parents and cautiously plotted my approach to the buffet lines.

The buffet was long and rectangular, and along both sides were jam packed with ‘food-plate-to-back-of-the-patron-ahead-of-you’ customers. The line further from us seemed to be moving more, so I decided to start there. On my way I paused many times in common courtesy of allowing those returning from the bar the right of way. A few times tough those behind be who were making their way to the line would elbow me and cut ahead. I reached to grab a 7 inch plate, I took my place in line, and waited.

It wasn’t moving. At All. Attempting to peer around the wide bodies ahead of me I couldn’t determine what the problem was, and I saw my mom, dad and Andrea begin to move well along on the opposite side of the buffet.  I was left to stare at the salad bar offerings of lettuce, carrots, onions, black olives and beets. It began to move, only to quickly stop again. Now I stared at black olives, beets, cheddar cheese, diced boiled egg and bacon bits.  An eternity later and my view changed to that of bacon bits and salad dressings. The thousand island seemed most popular, even at this hour. By now I was able to observe a frail looking little lady turn out of the line with 2 boiled eggs and dry toast. As soon as she cleared the serving line it seemed as if there was now a mad rush filling in the void. Movement at last!

But where there was just seconds ago an orderly hurry up and wait presence, chaos now reigned. People began jumping the line, elbowing each other and twice I heard a plate fall to the ground. I managed to get to the scrambled eggs and meat bins, placing a few slices of bacon and eggs on my plate only to have it knocked out of my hand and onto the bar. No one noticed, or if they did didn’t care. It was survival of the fattest and I knew I was going to lose any composure or self respect if I intended on keeping food on my plate and safely returning to the table to eat. So I reached across a big burly man to retrieve my plate and quickly added what seemed to be both somewhat filling and easily accessible grub only to have my plate jarred again, this time losing my eggs. I backed into the plate of the person immediately behind me, offered a half hearted apology and ladled more eggs.  I worked my way back and sat at the table. At least coffee had arrived.

The food was passable. Although the bacon was undercooked and dripping with grease, it is hard to ruin a breakfast buffet. Failing at any type of conversation due to the incredible amount of background noise, my family and I hunkered down to just eat and people watch. I use the term people watch loosely. Jacques Cousteau would have defined the activity differently I suppose, so would a farmer; but at least you do get a sense if what we were doing.

Our waitress, that lone beacon in the wilderness, did come by and offer everyone refills. But her good cheer could not break the glum I was sinking into. It was the epitome of herd mentality. The undecipherable background noise of multiple conversations from mouths half filled with food was numbing and created a lulling sensation. The smell of bacon grease and body odor dulled the perceptions. The sight of people gorging themselves everywhere I looked was constant. I was overwhelmed.

I began to moo in response to comments my wife made. I growled when patrons, seeing a short cut along the side of our table back into the feeding line, tried to cut past us. I chewed with my mouth open. I guzzled the water and belched as loud as I could.  Why not, it seemed I was living in the world populated by George Orwell and felt as if I were becoming Squealer. I was a mouthpiece and nothing more, yet I was filling my mouth, not emptying it.

Noticing my plate was all but empty after repeated scrapings of my fork produced nothing edible (save the greasy bacon); I decided I would try the other line of the bar.  On this side were the ingredients for making breakfast tacos; virtually the same as the other side, except for refried beans, salsa and tortillas as opposed to biscuits and gravies. As I grabbed a new plate I feebly felt my humanity being restored.  I dished out a small portion of the beans, potatoes, eggs and salsa, and had all but worked my way right to the tortillas when the foot of a very obese woman pinned mine to the floor.  She didn’t even flinch as she held her ground, lifted the lid to the tortillas warmer and took all 7 or 8 tortillas that remained. She placed them on her second heaping plate of food as I asked her “Do you need more?”

She bristled at me, and over razor sharp tusked just snorted laughter. Dropping the lid and tongs, she lifted her cloven hoof off mine as she shouldered past me back to the pen she was occupying. I was broken. Slack jowled, I simply returned to my table and ate my taco ingredient breakfast. I vaguely remember after awhile it was time to leave. My dad herded us up and led the way past the troughs and loaded us up. After some time I became aware of billboards and cars along side us as I realized we were heading to the airport. What just happened?