Several years ago Brian Williams (you know, Marnie's dad) received a lot of criticism for his seemingly untrue memories of a number of traumatic events during his time as a reporter.
Now, I don’t know Mr. Williams, but he seems like a decent guy, and I can’t help but feel bad for anyone who falls so drastically from grace and in such a public fashion. My empathy with him runs even deeper, however, as I, too, have experienced how traumatic events can alter one’s memory.
In defense of Mr. Williams, I would like to share my story
(or a version of my story that may or may not be 100% accurate…depending on whom you talk to…and how traumatized they are…and how they feel about buffets).
There are many, many reasons why I love my significant other, Dave. I could list all of the reasons, but that would take a long time, and only one of the reasons actually matters for this blog post:
I really, really, really like going to buffets, and he is more than willing to go with me.
If you are still reading at this point, I would guess that you are reacting in one of two ways:
1) What do you mean he’s willing to go to buffets with you? Who wouldn’t want to go to buffets? Buffets provide a unique and joyful dining experience and should not be missed.
2) Ewww
If I have learned nothing else in my time on this earth, I have learned this: There are those who love buffets and there are those who think they are disgusting. It’s a difference that is strikingly difficult to overcome.
I understand the concerns:
Buffet food can a little bit bland.
Buffet food has sometimes, depending on the popularity of the particular item, been sitting out for, well, a while.
Buffets are labor intensive and not great for conversation.
In my humble opinion, however, the negatives are 100% outweighed by this fact:
When I go to a buffet, I can literally fill a single plate with a spoonful of mashed potatoes, a spec of salad, a taste of spaghetti, a smidgeon of jello, and 3-4 tortilla chips with pump cheese.
That’s tiny portions of 5 TOTALLY different meal types on one plate…and then you can go back for more.
Why would you go to a place where you are limited to one plate, with one type of food, when you have a world of possibilities within walking distance of your table? Why?
The problem is - we live in the DC area and DC isn’t really a buffet kinda city.
You can find Sushi, Ethiopian, Lebanese, Korean, Greek, Carribean, Soul, Vietnamese, and small plates/tapas (soooo many small plates/tapas), but, buffets?
Nope.
So, when Dave and I venture out into the world outside the DC metro area, we often take the opportunity to see the sites but also to visit a buffet or two (or three).
On one recent trip we did just that.
We happened to be in a buffet-loving state, so we were not surprised to find a buffet within close proximity of our hotel and immediately decided it was to be our dinner destination that evening. We waited until around 8 pm (any buffet person knows that, if possible, you wait until well past 6 pm to avoid the early bird crowds) and, stomachs growling, made our way over.
There was still a line, which was odd for so late, but we are not easily deterred.
It wasn’t until we got to the front of the line that we realized the problem– somehow looking past the packed parking lot, the exceptionally new looking building, and the streamers (so many streamers), we had wandered into a buffet on what appeared to be opening night.
Most people would have given up. Most people who have turned around and walked to the Applebees next door. We aren’t most people.
We persisted.
As our harried server walked us through the maze of rooms and tables, we dodged spilled food, small children running laps, and chairs left in random places.
Most tables were stacked with mountains of plates and half eaten food, as the waitstaff was having trouble keeping up with opening day craziness.
Once we got to our small table in the corner, I took a second to take note of where exactly it was and looked for markers for getting back. Notes:
from the salad side of the buffet, it’s through the first room,
take a right at the spilled soda,
walk past the table of 15 people,
and go to the corner window overlooking the highway.
Ok, easy enough.
Off to the buffet!
Roughly 3 minutes later, plate full of food, I retraced my steps, following the directions carefully. As I passed the table of 15 people, I looked up to see the same frazzled waitress seating two people at *our* table.
I looked back over my route first room, right, big table, corner window…yep, definitely our table.
I started to say something but the server walked away.
It was too late.
Our table was gone.
Dave wandered over with his plate of food and we both just stood there for a minute, hungry and confused. Eventually, another server came along and, sensing our distress, guided us to a new table.
We persisted (but agreed to stagger our trips back to the buffet, so as to better control our real estate).
On my second round, my goal was mashed potatoes and a piece of pizza. The pizza was easy (I may be the only one in the world who gets buffet pizza), but the potatoes proved more difficult, as my path to the homestyle food section was blocked by the line of people waiting for sliced beef, and there seemed to be a bit of a tiff (slowly escalating) as to whether one gentleman cut in line. I am not about to get in the middle of an argument between hangry people waiting for beef, so I spent a few minutes (ok, 8 minutes) hanging out in the salad area until everyone was through the line and the path to the potatoes had cleared.
I persisted.
A cat (service pet? Stray? Paying guest?) strutted through the dining area.
We persisted – we’re cat people.
Dave went for his dessert round as I patiently guarded the table, but he came back moments later empty-handed and looking like, well, like somebody had stolen his dessert.
He reported that there was a pack of 7 year olds guarding the ice cream machine. His plan was to wait them out. They looked pretty mean, but it had to be close to their bedtime.
I persisted, but only because I didn’t want ice cream (I’m a fan of buffet bread pudding).
The gang of 7 year olds who had previously been guarding the ice cream machine rode by on scooters – not sure where the scooters came from, but they were surprisingly fast on carpet.
We were almost done at that point, so persisting wasn’t a huge deal.
As we walked out (again past the table of 15 people…who had been there an exceptionally long time at that point and whose children were literally sleeping under the table), we said goodbye to our poor exhausted server, whose smile was an attempt at “have a good night”, but was, in truth “For the love of God - please, please, please take me with you”.
As noted, the night is such a blur that I cannot completely verify that everything reported actually happened. Not being a reporter, I hope you will forgive any exaggerations, overstatements, or, you know, straight up lies.
The only thing I can verify 100% is the look on our server’s face – that look will haunt me forever.
Now, I don’t know Mr. Williams, but he seems like a decent guy, and I can’t help but feel bad for anyone who falls so drastically from grace and in such a public fashion. My empathy with him runs even deeper, however, as I, too, have experienced how traumatic events can alter one’s memory.
In defense of Mr. Williams, I would like to share my story
(or a version of my story that may or may not be 100% accurate…depending on whom you talk to…and how traumatized they are…and how they feel about buffets).
There are many, many reasons why I love my significant other, Dave. I could list all of the reasons, but that would take a long time, and only one of the reasons actually matters for this blog post:
I really, really, really like going to buffets, and he is more than willing to go with me.
If you are still reading at this point, I would guess that you are reacting in one of two ways:
1) What do you mean he’s willing to go to buffets with you? Who wouldn’t want to go to buffets? Buffets provide a unique and joyful dining experience and should not be missed.
2) Ewww
If I have learned nothing else in my time on this earth, I have learned this: There are those who love buffets and there are those who think they are disgusting. It’s a difference that is strikingly difficult to overcome.
I understand the concerns:
Buffet food can a little bit bland.
Buffet food has sometimes, depending on the popularity of the particular item, been sitting out for, well, a while.
Buffets are labor intensive and not great for conversation.
In my humble opinion, however, the negatives are 100% outweighed by this fact:
When I go to a buffet, I can literally fill a single plate with a spoonful of mashed potatoes, a spec of salad, a taste of spaghetti, a smidgeon of jello, and 3-4 tortilla chips with pump cheese.
That’s tiny portions of 5 TOTALLY different meal types on one plate…and then you can go back for more.
Why would you go to a place where you are limited to one plate, with one type of food, when you have a world of possibilities within walking distance of your table? Why?
The problem is - we live in the DC area and DC isn’t really a buffet kinda city.
You can find Sushi, Ethiopian, Lebanese, Korean, Greek, Carribean, Soul, Vietnamese, and small plates/tapas (soooo many small plates/tapas), but, buffets?
Nope.
So, when Dave and I venture out into the world outside the DC metro area, we often take the opportunity to see the sites but also to visit a buffet or two (or three).
On one recent trip we did just that.
We happened to be in a buffet-loving state, so we were not surprised to find a buffet within close proximity of our hotel and immediately decided it was to be our dinner destination that evening. We waited until around 8 pm (any buffet person knows that, if possible, you wait until well past 6 pm to avoid the early bird crowds) and, stomachs growling, made our way over.
There was still a line, which was odd for so late, but we are not easily deterred.
It wasn’t until we got to the front of the line that we realized the problem– somehow looking past the packed parking lot, the exceptionally new looking building, and the streamers (so many streamers), we had wandered into a buffet on what appeared to be opening night.
Most people would have given up. Most people who have turned around and walked to the Applebees next door. We aren’t most people.
We persisted.
As our harried server walked us through the maze of rooms and tables, we dodged spilled food, small children running laps, and chairs left in random places.
Most tables were stacked with mountains of plates and half eaten food, as the waitstaff was having trouble keeping up with opening day craziness.
Once we got to our small table in the corner, I took a second to take note of where exactly it was and looked for markers for getting back. Notes:
from the salad side of the buffet, it’s through the first room,
take a right at the spilled soda,
walk past the table of 15 people,
and go to the corner window overlooking the highway.
Ok, easy enough.
Off to the buffet!
Roughly 3 minutes later, plate full of food, I retraced my steps, following the directions carefully. As I passed the table of 15 people, I looked up to see the same frazzled waitress seating two people at *our* table.
I looked back over my route first room, right, big table, corner window…yep, definitely our table.
I started to say something but the server walked away.
It was too late.
Our table was gone.
Dave wandered over with his plate of food and we both just stood there for a minute, hungry and confused. Eventually, another server came along and, sensing our distress, guided us to a new table.
We persisted (but agreed to stagger our trips back to the buffet, so as to better control our real estate).
On my second round, my goal was mashed potatoes and a piece of pizza. The pizza was easy (I may be the only one in the world who gets buffet pizza), but the potatoes proved more difficult, as my path to the homestyle food section was blocked by the line of people waiting for sliced beef, and there seemed to be a bit of a tiff (slowly escalating) as to whether one gentleman cut in line. I am not about to get in the middle of an argument between hangry people waiting for beef, so I spent a few minutes (ok, 8 minutes) hanging out in the salad area until everyone was through the line and the path to the potatoes had cleared.
I persisted.
A cat (service pet? Stray? Paying guest?) strutted through the dining area.
We persisted – we’re cat people.
Dave went for his dessert round as I patiently guarded the table, but he came back moments later empty-handed and looking like, well, like somebody had stolen his dessert.
He reported that there was a pack of 7 year olds guarding the ice cream machine. His plan was to wait them out. They looked pretty mean, but it had to be close to their bedtime.
I persisted, but only because I didn’t want ice cream (I’m a fan of buffet bread pudding).
The gang of 7 year olds who had previously been guarding the ice cream machine rode by on scooters – not sure where the scooters came from, but they were surprisingly fast on carpet.
We were almost done at that point, so persisting wasn’t a huge deal.
As we walked out (again past the table of 15 people…who had been there an exceptionally long time at that point and whose children were literally sleeping under the table), we said goodbye to our poor exhausted server, whose smile was an attempt at “have a good night”, but was, in truth “For the love of God - please, please, please take me with you”.
As noted, the night is such a blur that I cannot completely verify that everything reported actually happened. Not being a reporter, I hope you will forgive any exaggerations, overstatements, or, you know, straight up lies.
The only thing I can verify 100% is the look on our server’s face – that look will haunt me forever.
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