Golden Corral, a famous buffet chain, claims to have it all. For only $11.49, one gains access to a variety of cheap steak cuts, instant mashed potatoes, canned veggies and fruits, and the self-serve ice cream machine. Heaven in my Papi’s eyes, a hell in mine, this hopefully dying chain is our go-to destination after a bi-annual visit to Catholic mass, a family photo shoot, or any other rare occasion in which my family spends the entire day together. I am often stuck in dangerous thought, engrossed by gross hypotheticals while “enjoying” the restaurant’s frustratingly perfectly buttered rolls and concerningly bright yellow cornbread. The ladle I used to scoop my mashed potatoes and the plate on which it sits have been grazed, gripped, and even manhandled by hundreds of hands that same day (a rough estimate, I’m not very good with numbers). The food I am consuming is almost entirely a result of careless assembly and, lacking of the creativity and love my mother cooks at home. Sticky hands and fingerprints shower the claw machines fittingly placed right next to the exit doors. I am eating because I am hungry, begrudgingly so, while my father sits in quiet delight. He is satisfied, only temporarily, before he spots a new section of overzealous food variety.
Buffets, at least the ones with flickering neon signs and some kind of variation of the name Chow Town, have persuaded millions that it is okay to eat until sickness, consumed to their failing heart’s desire. Bacteria thrive in the pockets of warmth on a tray, the risk of infection only increasing the longer the food sits out. Many thrive on the adrenaline rush of getting the last slice of pizza, a slab of rib, and clean plate on the rack.
It’s like a competition, my brother admitted to me recently. Steak takes time to cook, patience wanes, and there’s just no way one can make the most of their money if you have to wait for more food.
Buffets glorify overconsumption, similar to how social media has glorified buying one’s way to the best version of oneself. As humans, we are often unable to identify what it is we actually need, instead attempting to satisfy our emotional cravings with the tangible.
Instead of falling for the promise of value, we must be grateful for the value in what we already have.
While I do not ask to abandon buffets altogether (as I wish I could), savor your firsts. And seconds. And possibly thirds.
It tastes better that way.
