Golden Corral

I’ve eaten here twice this summer. Things must have improved since the previous reviews. The fried chicken was excellent. Huge salad bar with very fresh vegetables and a wide assortment of toppings. However, my companion selected breakfast fare both times; the warming trays didn’t keep the breakfast items hot.

Food was good just not as many options as most Golden Corrals. Mashed potatoes were cold, pizza looked as it had sat out all afternoon. Slow service when you first came in and for them to clear dirty plates. Overall, just ok.

This place is unforgettable, and not in a good way. I’ve already mentioned my apprehension for buffets, but am willing to give any restaurant a chance. This place turned out almost exactly as I thought it would.
I initially dreamed of the scene from James Joyce’s _​Ulysses_​, where the protagonist, Leopold Bloom, steps into the Burton for a bite to eat:
«Stink gripped his trembling breath: pungent meatjuice, slop of greens. See the animals feed.
Men, men, men.
Perched on high stools by the bar, hats shoved back, at the tables calling for more bread no charge, swilling, wolfing gobfuls of sloppy food, their eyes bulging, wiping wetted moustaches. A pallid suetfaced young man polished his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his napkin. New set of microbes. A man with an infant’s saucestained napkin tucked round him shovelled gurgling soup down his gullet. A man spitting back on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: no teeth to chewchewchew it. Chump chop from the grill. Bolting to get it over. Sad booser’s eyes. Bitten off more than he can chew. Am I like that? See ourselves as others see us. Hungry man is an angry man. Working tooth and jaw. Don’t! O! A bone! That last pagan king of Ireland Cormac in the schoolpoem choked himself at Sletty southward of the Boyne. Wonder what he was eating. Something galoptious. Saint Patrick converted him to Christianity. Couldn’t swallow it all however.»
While it wasn’t quite that descriptive, it was chock full of 300 lb. patrons scarfing as much food as they could with the intent of «getting their money’s worth.» What was their monetary target? $ 10.39. Yes, it was that expensive. I about turned around after it was announced to me. I was already there; I pressed on.
They sure have quite the set up here. You pay up front, pick up your plates and silverware, then you seat yourself in the dining area. You are then accosted by a «waitress» who tells you everything that’s clearly labeled on the buffet. This server also refills your drink and takes away your plates. How nice. Set up a soda fountain and a garbage bin, and they wouldn’t have to bother in the first place. Neatly printed on the receipt is a message to every poor sap that walks through the door: «GRATUITIES GREATLY APPRECIATED, THANK YOU!» For $ 10.39 and damn near self-​service, I would tip myself before I would anyone else. I purposefully finished my original drink right before I left, so I wouldn’t even debate the idea of a gratuity. That’s insane.
The food was mid-​grade at best. I had fried shrimp that tasted like it was from my grocer’s freezer, lukewarm bourbon chicken, and a pot roast greasy enough to lubricate the axles of a GTO. Fun Fun Fun.
After finishing chocolate pudding that tasted like my spoon, I sprung up and left before the «waitress» could accost me again. My mind keeps saying, «well, what did you expect?» I’d like to think it was to try it before I knocked it, but this establishment has the honor of being the first ever where I genuinely wanted my money back.