Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
Following a two-year (or so) Toney-imposed moratorium, we returned to
the Old Country Buffet this week.
Needless to say, I have some experience with the so-called family buffet
style of dining. A person from my demographic (we like to call ourselves
the weighted) naturally gravitate to any place of business where
the words all-you-can-eat and gravy bar are used in the same
descriptive sentence. And over the years I've been to all the biggies,
as well as quite a few independents, and it's my opinion that Old
Country is just about the best of them all.
Indeed, it wasn't the quality of the food that Toney objected to, it was
the clientele. It seemed that whenever we visited the local restaurant
it would be teeming with the retarded, horribly disfigured, and the
absolute trashiest of white trash. It was an apparent magnet for people
traveling by bus, and groups of folks on an outing from "the
home."
It felt like we'd no sooner return from our first trip to the salad bar
when a whole gang of energized young men and women would come busting
into the place, and cause us all to make a mental note to rent Slingblade
again. Some would be wearing football helmets, a few would be making
sounds like a smoke detector low on batteries, and someone would almost
always lick the macaroni and cheese ladle before returning it to the
vat.
Plus, for some reason we had a streak going where we'd find ourselves
dining near, or in the middle of, what appeared to be a botched skin
graft support group. On those days the employees of the restaurant would
be running around and Windexing the sneeze guards on the buffet lines,
like there was no tomorrow. I think some shit was flaking-off.
And the loud lip-smacking, fat-ass, 5-for-$10 Redneck Riviera souvenir
t-shirt-wearing, buzzcut children-having, homemade tattoo-sporting
hillbillies was more than Toney could take. She finally put her foot
down, and we weren't allowed to eat there anymore. She even turned the
Secrets against it, so I didn't have a prayer.
Goodbye heavy gravy. <sniff>
But earlier this week Toney called me at work and said she didn't feel
like cooking that night. She'd been painting all day and wanted to know
if I was interested in going out for dinner. Always! And so we began the
long drawn-out discussion of where to go....
We'd just had a mountain of manicotti on
Sunday, so Italian mom 'n' pop was out of the question. It was
kids-eat-free at Bennigan's, but we've pretty much written that place
off. When they first opened here it was really good, especially their
burgers. But it's gone downhill fast. They removed all the good stuff
from their menu, and their burgers now taste like Grade C beef prepared
on a seldom-washed George Foreman grill.
The last time I was there I ordered some sort of dinner salad with
"country chicken" on top. And that chicken was so stale and
hard the breading threatened to rip gashes in my gums; it was like a
handful of driveway gravel. And don't even get me started on the
"magician." He's always there on kids night, milling around in
his novelty suit, and I'm constantly whispering to the Secrets: Don't
make eye contact! Don't do it!!
Anyway, we had a lengthy discussion on the subject, and couldn't agree
on anything. Toney seemed to be lobbying for pizza, but that didn't flip
my switch. I wanted mashed potatoes and meat loaf, and that sort of
thing. I floated the idea of a little diner near here, but that was shot
down. What about Cracker Barrel? I said Drive all the way to
Wilkes-Barre?! she answered. It wasn't going very well.
"Well.... of course there's always Old Country Buffet." After
I said it I flinched like someone was about to shoot a rubber band in my
direction. But to my surprise, she didn't object too vigorously. And
before I knew it, we had a plan to meet there at 6:30. I was almost
giddy!
And at 6:35 I was whisper-hollering to Toney: Ten dollars and fifty
cents a head?! Holy shit! Was it always this expensive?? Hell, I
didn't know we were going to require a bank loan. But whatever. I fell
back to allow Toney to pick a table, but she insisted I take the lead.
"This is your idea," she said, with a hint of menace in her
voice.
But it was good. I ate myself right up to the cusp of a blackout,
ingesting great amounts of vegetables, salad, ham, and something called
lemon pepper chicken. I drank an ocean of sweet tea, and topped it all
off with cake and ice cream. Damn straight.
The rest of the family didn't do too badly either. I believe the oldest
Secret ate an entire watermelon for dessert, and Toney was even forced
to admit that it "wasn't too bad."
Plus, there was no ladle-licking or banjo-plucking, or any of that
stuff. Most of the other people there seemed pretty normal. I noticed an
abundance of what was obviously people in town on business, having a
little dinner before returning to the hotel. Sure, the chick at the ham
station seemed a little surly, probably capable of sinking that carving
knife in your gut if you crossed her. But overall, it was a pleasant
surprise.
Of course, there's always next time.... Toney still seems far from
convinced.
At this point we're pretty much soured on chain restaurants, in general.
It seems that more often than not we walk away unsatisfied. When we
lived in Atlanta we never ate at those kinds of places -- there were so
many great local joints it would've been almost criminal. But now that
we live in Scranton, and have kids.... it's a little hard to avoid.
What are the ones that are surprisingly good? Are there any left? Help me
out, people. I beg of you.
--
Following a two-year (or so) Toney-imposed moratorium, we returned to
the Old Country Buffet this week.