Why am I fat? I blame the Chinese!

Yes, you know damn well there’s a story behind that, right?

Well, I went out for a business lunch at the Chinese Buffet today and I have to say, I did pretty well. Fortunately this place has the Mongolian section where you can get good stuff grilled with minimal sauces and whatnot. Not to say I didn’t have any General Tso or whatever, but it certainly wasn’t anywhere near the level of food I would have had a couple of months ago, or especially some years ago when I first discovered the sinister magic of buffets*. I mean, in my own personal Battle of the Bulge, my army has taken quite a tramping from the wily and delicious General Tso and his delectable minions. Their territory has expanded greatly but I feel like today, just maybe, I have managed to fight and win one.

Ah, I remember back in my 20s when I discovered the Chinese Buffet. There was one by my work, which was right next to my favorite record store. If you do the math, this adds up to nothing but trouble**. I began to eat there a lot, for a few reasons:

1) The food was great.
2) It was like $5.25 for lunch for all the food you could pack into your gaping maw.
3) The lunch waitress was cuter than a footlocker full of kittens.

I figured, if I keep showing up for lunch, maybe I can get a date out of it. This was not the best thought out plan because, quite frankly, she spoke like, eleven words of English, tops. None of which, by the way, included the phrases “Gosh, you’re handsome!” or “Red-haired nerdy men get me all hot-and-bothered!” Nope, all I got out of our relationship was increasingly tighter pants.***

As a hungry man, it’s difficult to resist the siren’s song of the phrase “All You Can Eat.” I mean, especially when you are young and can really do some damage, the allure is you’re really getting your money’s worth. Shoot, look at it realistically, you literally can sit there for hours until you have stuffed every corner of your digestive system with grub. I have seen people attack the crab legs like they are trying to keep the good men of the Cornelia Marie employed personally. After a while though, it’s like being a thrill seeker. You need more variety and bigger buffets. You end up being the Evil Kenivil of Wonton Soup or something.

Anyhow, by the time the cute waitress left (and leave she did. What, you think we got married or something?) only to be replaced by three very thin young men with hilariously tall hair, I was hopelessly addicted to the food. And hey, they knew my drink order and you did get a lot of food for the money. I was their friend. If they ran out of something they knew I like, they told me and made sure I knew more was coming out. It’s funny and very sad all at the same time.

My personal high/low point:

I was at said record store with my now-wife and my buddy Gilbert. We decided to eat next door (hooray!) but when we opend up the door there was a line of people going all the way up the ramp to the front desk (boo!). So, my girl goes up to see how long the wait was and the guy asks how many and she says “three” and points at me and Gilbert. The host goes “You’re with him?” and points at me. She nods.

The guys waves us up, and we bypass the whole freakin’ line to be seated.

My girl, half impressed, half mortified, turns to me and says, “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say you eat here too much.”


Aaaaand that’s a real good place to leave this I think.

Well, see you tomorrow kiddies!


* Sweet Jiminy Cricket could I pack it in back then! In my 20’s I consumed an ungodly amount of food at buffets. I mean, in college it was not unheard of to bang out a 12 pack of White Castles round about midnight, along with fries and a drink (maybe even a shake!). Then, it was a race to beat the clock. Those of you who have eaten 12 Castles fries, and a shake post Midnight know what clock I’m talking about.
** Right here in River City, with a capital T that rhymes with P and that stands for Porky.
*** not in that way you filth-mongers. I was getting fat!