The Golden Corral is a beautiful, insane human experiment. Thirteen bucks and you can eat for an entire day. Any comfort food you can imagine. As much as your waistband can handle. Fried chicken. Mashed potatoes. Pizza. They even have a chocolate fountain that a four-year-old is dipping his entire arm in. Keep your pretentious brunch spot. Your Artisinal Deconstructed Venti Haricots Verts served in a boot. I’ll be at The Golden Corral, eating hot wings served on a plate that is still slightly damp from the dishwasher. (I can’t stand how those snobby “upscale” restaurants always put regular words in French to try and make them sound fancier than they are. Ex: “Apple Pomme de terre” is literally just a potato. “Framboise” is a raspberry. And “charcuterie” is a Lunchable).
But the luxuries of Golden Corral come at a price, aside from the meager entry fee. The meal isn’t handed to you on a silver platter. It must be taken. Hunted. But beware: there are other hunters vying for the same prey. At peak Sunday brunch hours, there can be some jostling over the sneeze guards. Some elbow-flaring. And if a prized menu item is picked over — in this case, the steak — an all-out brawl can ensue:
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