The Birth of the All-You-Can-Eat Buffet

AUGUST, 1946.

TRANSCRIPT OF MEETING REGARDING A NEW RESTAURANT CONCEPT.

 

HERB: Gentlemen, thank you for coming.

SANDRA: Ahem.

HERB: Thank you all for coming, Sandra included. America’s back from the war. The people are optimistic. Hungry. Slightly constipated from rationing. We need a restaurant concept that says abundance. Ideas?

JACK: Something with SPAM?

HERB: We’re trying to move on from the war, not serve people army rations.

DONALD: A restaurant serving exclusively foods suspended in gelatin.

HERB: J-E-L-L-No.

WALTER: Folks seem to enjoy creamed chipped beef.

SANDRA: “Shit on a shingle.”

WALTER: See? It’s already got name recognition.

HERB: People, I thought you would have had more food for thought than this.

SANDRA: That’s it.

HERB: What’s that?

SANDRA: People like big portions. We’ll give them more food.

HERB: I’m listening.

JACK: Yes, we can specialize in big portions.

DONALD: The biggest.

WALTER: More than they can eat.

SANDRA: ALL. THAT. THEY. CAN. EAT.

HERB: All that they can eat?

SANDRA: Restaurants have been the gatekeepers of portion control for too long. We’re putting the power back in the hands of customers and letting them eat as much as they want.

JACK: As much as humanly possible.

WALTER: Men will have to undo the top button of their slacks.

HERB: Disturbing and intriguing. I like it. What type of cuisine will we specialize in?

SANDRA: None of them.

HERB: What?

SANDRA: We won’t specialize in any particular food because we will serve every type of food.

HERB: Every type of food?

SANDRA: We’re blowing the doors off of cuisines. People won’t be able to tell where one starts and another begins. Chicken a la King next to chow mein. Baked cod beside tapioca pudding. Hamburgers beside Teriyaki.

HERB: Won’t that be confusing?

SANDRA: People are already confused. The husband wants steak. The wife wants fish. The children want foods that, under normal circumstances, can only be found at a carnival.

HERB: So, we serve all of these dishes?

SANDRA: Yes. We’re the restaurant people go to when even they don’t know what they want to eat.

HERB: How is price structured?

SANDRA: A flat rate. It will give people a sense of ownership over the cost. If they don’t feel as though they got their money’s worth, it’s not our fault. They simply didn’t eat enough.

HERB: Splendid.

WALTER: We’ll need an army of waiters to serve all this food.

SANDRA: No waiters.

HERB: How does the food reach the table?

SANDRA: It doesn’t. The people retrieve it themselves.

[Silence.]

DONALD: Like livestock?

SANDRA: It’s trough-adjacent.

HERB: Go on.

SANDRA: We place all the food out at once. Endless trays. Steam rising everywhere. Food sun tanning under hot lamps. The customer wanders the room in a state of near-hypnosis, cobbling together a mish-mash of foods no sane chef would ever permit.

WALTER: Such as?

SANDRA: A waffle with Swedish meatballs. Tuna casserole and Jell-O. Ice cream one inch away from gravy.

JACK: The gravy will migrate.

SANDRA: It will.

WALTER: We’ll assemble the best chefs from their respective cuisines.

SANDRA: No.

HERB: No?

SANDRA: People’s taste buds will be so overwhelmed and disoriented by the variety of food, it won’t have to be the best you’ve ever had. In fact, it definitely won’t be.

HERB: Quantity over quality.

SANDRA: Exactly. If people gorge on a cornucopia of mediocrity, they don’t say, “That was mediocre,” they say, “What a spread!” People aren’t going to leave talking about how great the food was—they’re going to be talking about how full they are.

HERB: They’ll speak about their meal unfolding in rounds. Like a prize boxer.

WALTER: It will be a science experiment pitting hunger against restraint.

SANDRA: Most people will eat until the point of pain, summon the grit to ignore their own biological signals, then eat even more until they’re waving their napkin in the air like a white flag of surrender.

JACK: No one leaves hungry. Or without regrets.

DONALD: “I shouldn’t have had that extra helping” will be a common utterance.

HERB: I know we’re talking abundance, but is this too gluttonous?

SANDRA: This is America, Herb, gluttony is just optimism with a plate.

[A patriotic tear rolls down HERB’s cheek.]

JACK: Because this is “all-you-can-eat,” the diners have to eat everything on their plate before they help themselves to more.

WALTER: Yes, clean your plate—just like at home.

SANDRA: No.

HERB: No?

SANDRA: People will undoubtedly take too much. There will be an excessive amount of waste, but it will be the perfect opportunity for mothers to say, “Your eyes are bigger than your stomach.”

HERB: So, someone could put an entire turkey or ham on their plate?

SANDRA: For certain stations, we have an employee distributing the food. There will be a carver for roasts.

HERB: Yes. A carver slicing thick cuts of roast.

SANDRA: Thin cuts.

HERB: Thin?

SANDRA: Paper-thin. Almost translucent. The carver only distributes two slices at a time.

DONALD: That seems miserly.

SANDRA: It’s psychological. The customer thinks, “I’ve beaten the system,” while making eleven pilgrimages for roast.

HERB: We’ll need the carvers to appear authoritative.

JACK: Tall chef’s hats.

DONALD: Very tall.

WALTER: Unsettlingly tall.

HERB: Good. The taller the hat, the less likely someone is to question portion control.

JACK: We should have dessert stations.

DONALD: Cakes. Every variety of cake. Yet they all taste inexplicably similar.

WALTER: A chocolate fountain.

HERB: Is that sanitary?

SANDRA: Absolutely not.

HERB: Perfect. What do we call this place?

JACK: Sir Stuffington’s.

WALTER: Fully-McFull-Belly’s.

DONALD: Gelatin Jamboree.

HERB: Stop helping.

SANDRA: The name should communicate abundance.

HERB: Yes, but with elegance. European elegance.

SANDRA: There’s a Swedish word for this style of dining. “Smörgåsbord.”

HERB: Not that European. We want sexy. Sophisticated.

JACK: What about French? Everything sounds fancy in French.

WALTER: Le Beef Trough.

SANDRA: That’s not French.

WALTER: It feels French.

HERB: Wait. Wait. The French word for a serving table is “buffet.”

[The room falls silent.]

SANDRA: Buffet.

DONALD: Buffoon. I mean, buffet.

WALTER: Buffet. It sounds classy.

HERB: Gentlemen—and lady—I believe we’ve just changed American eating forever.

SANDRA: For the better?

HERB: I don’t see any issues with the concept. Do you?