It was high noon at The Olde Lo Chin Palace of Oriental Delight and Emperor's Healthy Living 24 hour Chinese Buffet. I knew it was high noon because the plaque over the buffet read: High Noon Lunch Buffet 5.95. I love the lunch buffet, I freely confess it. I use the library of our small town as a kind of open air, loud, cheery office. And the best part is that the Olde Lo Chin Buffet is just down the road.
On this particular day I slid into my favorite booth, upholstered in the traditional red vinyl of Mongol princes and quickly scanned the placemat, thoughtfully imprinted with all the figures of the Chinese zodiac. I am an Ox. Apparently, I am bright and patient; a born leader, yet secure enough to enjoy solitude. My natural ally is the rat; the sheep is my opposite number. It would be more helpful if I actually knew what anyone else's Chinese zodiac sign is. It just never comes up. At a party, you might ask, "What's your sign?" And that person could reply: "I'm a Pisces" or "Hey, Man, I'm Capricorn" or even, "Listen, Bozo, do you really think it's 1971, or what?" And thus you'll know that person is a Scorpio. But they hardly ever reply "I'm a rat" or "I'm a sheep," unless they happen to be a publisher and then both are a given.
I gave a quick, long distance scan to the buffet itself. I noted the beef with green beans was back; this is a particular favorite of mine. Furthermore, they had just dumped a new load of General Tso's Chicken into the front bin; it was still steaming; obviously, this was a good day to be here.
Lisa, a waitress with whom I had earlier established a rapport, sidled over. She was smiling; our usual rapport was a buck.
"Guten Tag," she greeted me. "You vill be havin' der buffet today, ya?" This being West Stanley county, Michigan, the only ethnic minorities we have are German or Dutch. Whether the restaurant is Greek, Lithuanian or Chinese, the waitstaff is invariably German: the Olde Lo Chin Buffet is far enough north in West Stanley county that Lisa's father had been a passing Norwegian. As I approached the buffet, I nodded to Old Lo Chin, the owner and chef of the Olde Lo Chin Buffet; oddly enough, he is actually Chinese; no one has yet figured out how that happened.
Suddenly, my way was barred by three large men; they looked hungry. This is the difficulty with having a rep; every couple of months some kid who thinks he can eat shows up, hoping to make a name for himself. Today, I wasn't interested; I just wanted lunch.
I tried to step around them — the boy in front, obviously the leader, smirked down at me. He was ten years my junior, a handspan taller and the size of a Buick; I, myself, am only the size of a Yugo; this could get ugly.
"I hear you think you're hungry," he murmured, with a swing of his head towards the smoking bins of food. His belly thrust towards mine in an insolent challenge.
"Hungry enough f'r you." I tried once more to pass; the grinning jackals behind him blocked my way.
"Well, I don't think you are. Hungry enough, that is. Care for a test?" I could see these was no way to avoid this; still, I tried once more.
"You don't want to do this, Son. It ain't worth it." His eyes slid away from mine, momentarily shaken; then they swung back, filled with false courage. He wouldn't turtle, not in front of his gang.
"Worry about yourself, old man; I ain't et since last Tuesday." I checked out the General Tso's; it was still steaming. It was now or never.
"Okay, then, you call it — usual stakes?"
"Yep, winner take all. And you know what, old man? I'll even let you go first, — 'cause them's my manners." His friends hooted at this wit.
I took a plate and headed for the buffet, the challenger at my heels. For the first time I had a chance to really study the bins: The first line was desserts — three or four cakes, two bins of puddings, a square yard of fudge. I've never understood why all buffets put the desserts first; maybe they're afraid we'll forget them. Are there people who actually forget dessert? Behind this row was salad: mixed greens, caesar and a deadly combination of korean cabbage and crabmeat. Later, I promised myself. This lead directly to the seafood section; I began loading up, starting with a layer of cod, marinated in hot sauce and fried. There were also breaded and baked fillets, and lobster claws in butter. Also available was breaded and deep fried squid, rolled in herbs and tender as onion petals. I finished by surrounding the plate with sushi: rice and raw fish, rolled up and held in a seaweed leaf. At the last minute I ladled a handful of inch thick mushroom over the top. Behind me, my opponent was duplicating the plate, while commenting: "Huh, mushrooms too. He don't think much of hisself, hah?" The loons chuckled.
Back at the table we ate, eyes locked on the other's plate, while the staff watched in wonder. The boiled and fried squid tentacles were delicious; chewy and tender, with a hint of garlic. Across the table, my friend regarded the fleshy, studded tubes with suspicion. "What the hell is this?"
"Squid." He made a face and a great show of putting it down, playing to his audience. He had to clear his plate, though, so after he made all the usual comments, and watched me down three of them, he took a tentative bite. "Hey, it's not bad." Like most buffet greenhorns, he had never eaten in depth. And the drama had cost him. He finished last, letting me hold serve. This time I concentrated on various pork and chicken combinations, plus the green beans, spread on a thick pillow of pork fried rice. As we ate, Lisa came up for our drink orders. He wanted Pepsi; I took iced tea.
"Sure you want the carbonation?" I asked him. He only smiled. "Worry about your own gut." I saw his men eating stuffed mushrooms and broiled shrimp, stolen off his plate when they thought I wasn't looking. They smirked at me, daring me to complain. This time he finished first.
He chose a meal heavy with fried chicken wings, mashed potatoes and fried meat balls. He also took shrinp toast, a heavy, fried confection guaranteed to fill you up. I wondered if he was bragging a little. As I passed the condiments, I poured soy sauce over my white rice; at the same time I snagged a spoonful of green Chinese horseradish paste. It was pretty deadly stuff. I packed it into two stuffed mushroom caps before I returned to the table. He grunted at me, as I sat down.
"You look full; don't make y'rself sick, now." I reached across the table, plucking a bamboo skewer of twisted, roasted chicken from his plate; at the same time I secretly dropped the mushroom caps.
"I can eat all day, if I have to, friend." I spaced the shrimp roll with bites of roast duck and a couple hard boiled eggs. It went down easy; but I didn't know how much more toast I could take. The mushroom caps were gone — I noticed his flunkies chewing. Focusing on some salt and pepper new potatoes, I kept myself from looking up. Suddenly. there was a scream. The goon on the left was gaping, his eyes streaming water; the one on the right had fallen to his knees, pain limning his features. He had turned the brightest red I had ever seen, The other man clawed helplessly at his mouth; he had already swallowed. As one they pivoted and made a dash for the door. The man on his knees flopped out whimpering, rubbing his sleeve back and forth over his mouth. Easily, I took a shrimp, folded it around a pea-sized dollop of green fire and popped it into my mouth, relishing the heat as it went down.
"You should try some horseradish — it's delicious," I told my dinner partner. Then I leaned forward. "Keep your men out of this; the next time I'll cripple 'em." My plate was clean. He was still halfway through the mashed potatoes. I rose, and made my next course an affectionate serving of almond chicken, substituting brown gravy for the more traditional yellow. I topped it with green onions and added a side of squid for luck, plus a healthy dab of crab salad. When I returned to the table, the younger man was still not quite done; he seemed to be pushing the last few bites around on his plate without really eating. turning them into a kind of multi-colored scum. He stared at my mountainous plate with an indescribable horror. As I started to eat, he tried to rise, then sank down with sigh. I glanced up; he gave a tiny half smile; his eyes closed and he slid sidewise and crashed to the floor. He commenced to snore lustily.
I finished my meal. I drained my ice tea. "Excellent, as always," I said to Lo Chin. Then, to Lisa: "My friend on the floor will take care of the bill." I stepped over the two human wrecks who lay with their faces in the ornamental pool at the front of the building, slurping like hounds. I was impatient of delay; It was nearly one o'clock and Taco Bell was having a two for one sale on enchiritos — I didn't want to be late.
