All You Can Eat

All You Can Eat!

There was a time when certain restaurants had large glittering signs atop their roofs saying, “All You Can Eat”; and then there was a price added in numbers that were just as large. I searched out places like that when I was in my twenties. I looked at that advertisement as a challenge. It was like drawing a line in the sand and daring me to cross it; or, telling me that I was nothing of a big eater and they could prepare food faster than I could ingest it. I blindly thought the opposite.
The dare was also a call to my wallet. If the sign said “All You Can Eat, $3.99, I was prepared to make them wish I had never darkened their door. I knew I could eat my own weight in fried chicken, mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables; and then go back to gorge on the hamburger steak. After that plateful I usually followed the same path to the steam table where the seafood was kept hot. There would then be a small plate of ribs. After all I didn’t want to make a pig of myself; especially with a dessert table still untouched.
But after a time there were other things to consider, such as the fact that my wife and kids would be sitting at the table staring at their empty plates while I kept re-filling mine. They were always very patient, but it made me feel uncomfortable; especially after the third helping. Their patience seemed a bit strained about that time. Sometimes one of them would ask if they could wait in the car.
The satisfaction I received by out financing the owners of one of those places was almost enough to out weigh the discomfort of driving with the steering wheel so much closer to my abdomen. But, after a time and a good belch or two my smile would remain and I would quietly revel in yet another personal gastronomic victory.
I didn’t do much of that in my thirties. Better times and better pay led me to better places with better food. But, every now and again I would still accept the challenge of the billboard and go for “All You Can Eat”. I guess it was something in the male Ego that made me see if I could still drive some restaurateur into bankruptcy.
Then in the forties I discovered another adventure in overeating. It was on a trip to the State of Florida. While passing through the Mobile, Alabama area, and suffering from some minor hunger pangs, I stopped and herded the family into a local seafood restaurant. What I found interesting was the fact that this place sat between the highway and a small bay that connected with the Gulf of Mexico. There was a wharf and dock behind the building and a fishing boat was tied up there. It made sense that the place had to serve very fresh fish. I pulled into the parking lot and we went in to the best seafood I have ever eaten.
We all said that. Everyone had a great dinner. In fact it was so good that I had two great dinners, and ate every scrap of food on both of the plates. A few days later, on the return trip I made sure the timing of our stomach would be perfectly matched to our arrival at that same seafood restaurant. And, I did the same thing again. It was wonderful food.
A few years later I had the opportunity to go back to that area once again. I salivated like Pavlov’s dog for at least an hour before we arrived at that spot; and then my heart broke. I saw the building, the wharf, and the dock, and I also saw the burned and collapsed roof. The rest of the trip was dull and uninteresting.
When I reached my fifties I achieved a modicum of good taste. Food in quantity was not nearly as interesting as food that tasted good. My lady taught me that. She had always been more discerning; and when she cooked she would fuss over the spices as though they were the most important part of the meal. It didn’t take long for me to taste the difference, and soon we translated that discernment to the restaurants where we choose to eat. Flavor became important than bulk servings.
In my sixties, my trousers became tighter and tighter, and I learned that it was best to savor smaller amounts of food. I wasn’t very good at it at first. In fact it took several years and several added inches to my waist to make me see the light, and understand that my metabolism had changed. I now gained weight when I smelled food; or, I put on a pound when the waitress passed by with food for the next table.
Gradually I began to exert some control. Now I do not have to be concerned with rapid mid-section growth. My next task is to control the slow and steady mid-section growth. But, everything will happen in due time.
However I still take privilege in the “All You Can Eat” attitude. That happens when my lady makes desserts. I love them; and I take her placing a well iced cake on a pedestal plate as every bit the challenge as any of those “All You Can Eat” Restaurants