Old Country Buffet

I can't hide the fact that I'm a food snob any longer. What's the point? I will eagerly try new things, but I am very sure of what I like, and what I don't. I know that there are starving children everywhere, and that I should be grateful for whatever food I get, but I just can't get behind that idea. I believe that in dire situations the average person will eat anything to survive. I also believe that in dire situations I, however, will die a death of starvation, or dehydration first. I found out in the Amazon that I am NOT the survivor I thought I was, and that I will quietly die before eating much of something I truly hate.

Unfortunately, consideration for other people has clouded my judgment more than once, and this subject of 'courtesy eating' is a matter where this is especially tender. First of all, I have a weakness for the elderly, I love them. They are interesting, they couldn't care less what people think, and they have the kind of wisdom that you just can't get from books. When I have the time, which I have very little of, I go to lunch or dinner with them, and usually try to recruit a peer to give this a shot as well. And so it went in Alexandria, Virginia when I was there with my brother last year. I made a b-line for an elderly man in the congregation we attended named Vernon, (I'm changing his name to tell this) and asked if I could make him dinner. He declined, sighting his limited diet, and not wanting to be much trouble. Everyone who knows me knows that I do not give up easily, and so I asked him if there was a restaurant that my brother and I could take him to (yes, my brother was drafted). He went on about not being a bother, but after some time confessed that he really loved the "Old Country Buffet."

I hate buffets. I had not ever heard of the 'Old Country Buffet," but I hated every single word in the title. I hate eating food from bins. I hate people standing over food in a line, it is very Oliver Twist for me. I can't stand the randomness of buffets, how there is always a combination of jello, salad, fish sticks, eggs, country fried steak, and pudding? The combined smell of this appetizing array of lukewarm food leaves the entire building smelling like a garbage disposal. I hate that buffets seem to attract the worst of every race that society has to offer.

When I broke the news to my brother, and believe me I tried steering Vernon away from this idea, he couldn't stop laughing. He hadn't heard of the "Old Country Buffet" either. I openly hate buffets, and "Old Country Buffet" pretty much sounded like their king.

"Sounds like they have a lot of gravy," he said, knowing my take on buffets and everything they stand for, including gravy.

He decided to find the place, and take me over there before we picked up Vernon, just so I could pre-hate it.

"Get your stomach ready!" my brother said somewhere in his devious laughter.

I decided then and there this would take some serious prayer. But what exactly do you ask God at this moment, 'please help me not to be the ungrateful snob I know myself to be?' ' Please help me to not vomit at the table when I attempt to eat this?'

We picked up Vernon, and he was ecstatic, while I tried not to look like I was about to be executed. When we arrived there, I quickly noticed that "Old Country Buffet" lived up to its title. It had met all the expectations I assumed it would. It smelled like food that had already been eaten, there were people in lines over food, and nearly every race had sent at least one person to this restaurant as their worst possible representative.

I tried, I really tried my best to like being there. I went through the line, picked out whatever I thought I could keep down, and went to the table.

Vernon was in his buffet glory by the time I got to the table. It wasn't even 11am, and he was eating some sort of soft meat with thick, mucousy gravy, and green beans. His teeth were out, and he was gumming his food with the pleasure of a toddler over cake. I looked over Vernon's shoulder, and know that I wouldn't and couldn't make this up, and there was a significantly overweight, caucasian male with suspenders on. He had no shirt on, but did have enough back hair to make a decent case as a a shirt stand in. His black hair was greasy and slicked to his head, maybe he thought he was all dressed up. So that image sealed the deal for me. I knew there was no way I wouldn't throw this meal up, so I improvised.

My brother, who has no shame, just flat out didn't eat his food. However, I felt the need to be polite and pretended to eat it. I even fake chewed, which is how you know I'm completely crazy. I put this food bit by bit into my napkin in my lap. I did well, faking for Vernon, but this did not escape the cynical eyes of my brother who couldn't wait to see how I'd handle this buffet situation.

He leaned over and whispered to me, "Do you think your napkin is still hungry? I could get you seconds."