Golden Corral Frederick, MD
I've picked out the giant mecca of stretch pants, mullets and chocolate fountains for my first restaurant review: Golden Corral. Really, I just did it because I ate there this evening and would rather write tonight than randomly surf the internet. The option to eat someplace nicer (or in this case, just nice) came up in the "what shallst we do for dinner" debate. In the end, Golden Corral won out over Family Meals due to it's proximity to the craft store (we're building a speed skating diorama, of course). I think it must be the onset low-T. I saw a commercial for that. There is this underarm spray I can get that will make me much more awesome. Women will clamor for my manly attentions as I snarf plates of popcorn shrimp. My back hair will sprout lumberjack pit bulls. I think I got off track. Anyway, on to the Golden Corral. Look, I'm not saying it's supposed to be the pinnacle of American cuisine. They must be doing something right because, even though I can't get a beer there, the damned place was packed to the honey butter encrusted rafters. I wasn't expecting fine dining. I was expecting mass dining. That's exactly what I got. I'm not going to pick apart the food. My hypocrisy does have limits. Even though clowns dominate the circus flyers and billboards, no one really goes to their to see them pile out of their wickedly tiny car. We go for the elephants and the pony show. The GC (as the cool kids call it) has plenty of elephants and pony shows. Mounds of sesame chicken and bread pudding were heaped upon my plate in glutinous glee. My big boy pants paradise knew no limits. I suckled on the teat straight out of their well worn fryers. On the outside I was laughing with joy. On the inside, I was probably dying a little. Seriously, I think I had a minor infarction, recovering over a plate of breaded okra. Rice Krispie treats dipped in a white chocolate fountain. Why? Because screw you pal, that's why. What bugged me about the place though was how it made me feel. I remember a time when it was my favorite restaurant. Steaks and mac and cheese and jello and pizza piled high on my chipped plastic plate. It felt safe back then, comforting. Today, it was quite the opposite. Diners wriggled, sinning on poorly cooked steak. Watching the gooey masses overindulge I almost felt alone and sad. I've always tried desperately to be just one of the guys. Wandering the maze of cotton candy overindulgence, I struggled with humanity gone wrong? Just a little. Granted the model for humanity encompasses more than I buffet. I get that. As an aside, it's hard to be a thug with gummy bears on your ice cream. I appreciate your efforts though. Everything in moderation. Shrimp, mullets, the internet. GC not only breaks that rule but buries it under a gallon of creamed corn. I think their model is solid. It's the casual diner that has lost our way. I do not blame the Corral. I blame my cooking.