Buffeted By The Buffet

Is there anything more American than a buffet? Endless opportunities, unlimited indulgences, and unrestrained gluttony at its finest. Should a metal chaffing dish ever grow empty, a new one will appear, bountiful and beguiling, ready for the next round. It’s an odd phenomenon that I find impossibly fascinating, representing a Venn diagram that overlaps between bliss and revulsion.

Do I really need another plate of fried miscellany, just because it’s there? How many more servings before I’ve gotten my money’s worth? How long has that unrefrigerated potato salad really been sitting out? Why do most buffets have abysmal health scores? Some things are best not thought about.

Despite all the ostentatious trappings of the modern American buffet, we can’t lay claim to its invention. The US is still a nascent country compared to the most of the world, all of which had a huge head start on culinary development. Though its reliably a realm for the wealthy to showcase their largess, it hasn’t always been about quantity over quality.

Scandinavians can reasonably take credit for the original concept dating back to the 16th century. Brännvinsbord were served as a pre-meal snack of cold items like cheeses, bread, and other small tapas-like dishes, set out for guests to help themselves while mixing and mingling. By the time the early 18th century rolled around, these appetizers were expanded into smörgåsbords, encompassing a full meal and including hot dishes as well. However, the term “buffet” itself originates from the French, in reference to the piece of furniture where food was displayed.

Its original European elegance has worn thin after many years overseas, evidenced by the proliferation of steam table mystery meats and troughs of limp, oily fries. I know that a buffet will never be a good idea, especially as a vegan who can only safely consume about 1/10th of the questionable wares on display, and yet, I’m drawn inexorably to them, like a moth to the flame. The culture of buffets is a whole separate dogma, drawing a different set of social norms and expectations, like a crazy microcosm of the worst of human behavior. The people watching is top-tier; worth the price of admission alone.

The food is bad, yes, but there’s so much of it, which makes it good! Prices are steeper than an a composed entree, but you get to eat far more than you’d comfortably like to, so it’s a bargain! I get trapped down these spiraling, conflicting thought patterns, fully aware and yet fully willing to take the plunge. Do I want to go to the buffet? Yes, of course. Do I want to eat at the buffet? No, please god, anything but that.

Though the buffet has faced steep criticism and near extinction during the COVID-19 pandemic, it continues on, regaining lost ground particularly in hotels, casinos, and similar tourist traps. It’s part of the American experience now, no matter how abjectly terrible that may be. Consider it entertainment more than a meal, and you may have a better experience.

Artificial Intelligence = Artificial Ingredients

What’s wrong with artificial intelligence?

Well, to put it simply, AI has no taste.

Watching technology rapidly evolve and advance, it’s an effort to be cheered overall, with incredibly positive implications in countless fields. Some tasks never required human input and ideally, this substitution will free more people to use their talents where they’re needed. What critics get wrong is exactly which tasks are which.

AI-generated photo meant to represent food blogging

Creatives have been under acute pressure from the moment everyone and their best friend began generating stylized self-portraits to flaunt all over social media. Copyright issues aside, the hype was overblown from the minute it began; immediately, egregious, laughable flaws surfaced, namely in the form of missing or extra fingers, phantom limbs, and wildly exaggerated features. Even when the day comes when the fakes aren’t as easy to spot, let’s not forget the one key ingredient in this whole controversy:

AI cannot create.

From art to music, the results that AI can churn out on demand seem new and novel, but it’s really just yesterday’s leftovers mashed together with some pantry staples and spices, reheated, and served lukewarm. Anything that AI makes is only as good as what humans can make, and humans will always come first. AI doesn’t know how its creations taste nor can it give you an opinion about them. AI doesn’t know if the meal it served is edible or poisonous. Yet human taste testers seem to receive each plate as if it was thoroughly vetted and approved for consumption.

AI-generated photo meant to represent food blogging

Yes, these artificial concoctions will change the conversation around creative content, as does any societal progress at large. And yes, it may very well make life harder for creatives trying to make a living as they once did. We may need to reach a reckoning about what art is truly worth, and who’s willing to pay it; true art may be reserved only for the ultra wealthy, and artists may dwindle in numbers. However, it will never negate the need for actual artists. If you’re worried about these people or the beauty, life, insight, and overall joy they bring to everyday life, remember that what happens to them depends on other humans, not machines.

How will you address AI from now on?

An Everyday Kinda Birthday

Happy Belated Birthday To Me!

What does it say that I’m late to my own party?

The law of diminishing returns would suggest that I’ve passed peak celebratory years, jaded to the passage of time. While there’s a good dose of truth in that statement, it’s far from the full picture. Let’s turn the concept on its head for a moment.

Cupcakes with "Happy" Candles

What if, instead of reserving the festivities for a single calendar date, we lived every day a little bit more like a celebration?

  • Instead of saving the best bite for last, we dug right in and savored it along with the rest?
  • Instead of keeping prized collectables pristine in their packages, we tore them open and played without restraint?
  • Instead of saving cake for special occasions, made the act of eating cake a special occasion in and of itself?

Becoming an adult requires you to do one of two things: Give in, or give it your all.

So here I am, another year older. It doesn’t feel significant because, quite frankly, it’s not. It’s one birthday of many, not the greatest but absolutely not the worst, with many more to follow. It’s special precisely for the reason that it’s not.

I’ll be out here living everyday a little bit more like it’s my birthday from this point forward. Who’s with me?

Luka Love


My beautiful baby boy, do you remember the first day we met? It’s hard to imagine life without you, but it’s true, we had no idea the other existed when you entered the world. Where did you come from, really? Not a parking lot in Hercules, CA where you leapt into my arms without looking back, that much is sure. I’ll never know what came before that, though. What became of your original home, and why did you first mama disappear without a trace? Who could surrender such a sweet child to a complete stranger?

My beautiful baby boy, did you know that they first called you, “Max”? Yes, short for Maximilian, or perhaps the Roman family name Maximus. Barely tipping the scales at 6 pounds, you were more like Mini than Max. Do you like being called “Luka” better, or is it too much like Loki, the God of mischief? I was worried about that myself, but you seem to have taken to it, and it’s grown to suit you, my little troublemaker.

My beautiful baby boy, how is it that four years have passed since that fateful moment when you adopted me? Do you recall that rough start, with so many sleepless nights, ruined rugs, and frantic vet visits? You’ve certainly trained me well since then. Now I’m a treat-dispensing, belly-rubbing, walking pro, just like you always wanted.

My beautiful baby boy, Happy Gotcha Day. I don’t know how I ever got so lucky, but I got you. Through the good days and the bad, that’s all I really need.

Discomfort Food

Don’t get too comfortable. Don’t make yourself at home. This won’t be a nice, soothing, easy read. No; this is the opposite of soup for the soul. Sorry to spoil it for you, but isn’t a classic happy ending either.

There is no foolproof recipe for success. Don’t be fooled by the ratings or praise; sometimes, even the most sound advice, the easiest path, the most obvious choice, is doomed to fail. It’s not you. It’s not even the recipe. I don’t know what it is- Bad luck? Destiny, or fate? Some things can’t be explained away by science or reasoning. Life is unpredictable like that, both infuriatingly incomprehensible and exhilaratingly changeable.

Even presumed constants are forever in flux. That’s to say nothing of the random accidents, the drops, drips, splashes, and spills. The bumps and bruises, the cuts and burns. Everything that can go wrong, at some point or another, will, and sometimes all at once.

Things fall apart. The center cannot hold. Dishes blow up in the oven like a volcano in a pressure cooker. Stews overflow their stockpots to leave impermeable stains on the countertop.

Shit happens, and shit happens to all of us. At least, when it comes to food, you can clean up to try again another day… Or just order takeout.

Take solace in this heaping serving of discomfort food; you’re not alone.

The Devil Eats Chocolate

“That’s very fattening.”

Dropping like a stone out of the clear blue sky, the unsolicited comment stopped me cold. I hadn’t even been aware of the man standing in front of my cart, blocking my slow procession down the aisle. An instinctual flicker of rage flashed before my eyes, as if I had been slapped and called out back for a fight. This? This innocent little chocolate bar I held in my hand, fattening? What had it ever done to deserve such a harsh insult, completely unprovoked?

I looked up quickly, startled by the intrusion. There was only one way to respond, as far as I could see.

Looking this odd stranger straight in the eye, I spoke clearly and calmly.

“Yep.”

Immediately, the decision was made under that advice. Into the cart went the candy, tossed nonchalantly. That was all such a careless exclamation warranted.

Pulling the cart away from the shelf, away from this intruder, an incredulous grin began to spread across my face. What a laughable claim! What a strange thing to interject! Perhaps I should be grateful he’s so deeply concerned with my nutritional well-being. As if “fattening” was a terrible condition that could be contracted and spread like a disease, it was so kind of him to take a stand against the evils of all confectionery the world over, starting with my misinformed purchase.

Taking my plunder outside the store, there was only one way to dispose of such dangerous contraband. Quickly removing the wrapper to dissect the scored rectangles, it broke like the flimsy villain facade it hid behind, shattering into dark brown splinters that glittered inside the foil sheath. Vanquishing the beast, piece after piece succumbed to a sharp bite of the teeth, and a slow melt over the tongue.

May this beast inflict its fattening ways over society no more.