“But butter is one of our editorial pillars!” argued an Eat Out team member when a heretic brought up the notion of air-frying in a recent meeting. On the face of it, you might think that buffets, like butter, waffles and Speckled Eggs, might also form part of our belief system. After all, buffets involve food – lots of it – in an impressive array of guises. They also share a name with the best character in Friends (although Phoebe spells her surname differently) and one of the richest men in the world (somebody should tell Warren he’s pronouncing his surname wrong), and they allow for eccentric eaters to combine their favourite flavours, judgement free.
But, despite these fantastic recommendations in their favour, I would vote against adopting buffets into our canon of worship. In fact, I would posit that the buffet is the single worst offender in the realm of foodie first-world problems. Here are 10 highly scientific causes for anguish at the buffet table:
We need plates with compartments, people!
It’s baffling, when you consider the incredible creative possibilities offered by the buffet table, that the majority of their creators choose to serve seventeen different kinds of mayonnaise-y noodles. (I refuse to use the term ‘pasta salad’.) Have you ever seen three kinds of coleslaw on a proper menu? Tuna mayo sandwiches adorned with whole bunches of grapes? Cubes of cheese on toothpicks, rolls of clammy cold ham or baked beans straight out the tin? No? That’s because nobody would ever order these things. For some reason, though, it’s perfectly acceptable to serve them on a buffet table.
Your mom would say that your eyes are bigger than your stomach, but that’s a physical impossibility. Science, however, tells us that variety makes us greedy. Researchers using multicoloured M&Ms found that people measured out 12% more if the candy was multicoloured. This problem is exacerbated by the all-you-can-eat buffet.
In game theory, there’s a concept called utility that defines the value and satisfaction a consumer gets from something. If you are full, then food no longer has utility for you. In fact, if you continue to eat it, it starts to have negative utility. So unless you have a Herculean appetite – or manage to smuggle salmon roses out in your handbag – it’s basically impossible to get the true value of an all-you-can-eat buffet. It’s a lose-lose situation.
Mayonnaise hands! Icky!
With the possible exception of juicy stews, very few food stuffs are actually improved by prolonged warming. Meat and fish become sinewy and tough, and three hours in a heated tray on the breakfast buffet will transform even the lightest, fluffiest scrambled egg into something with roughly the appearance and texture of degraded rubber.
People are the worst.
The anxiety!
(Hint: there are no chicken nuggets! They’re always fish balls!)
It can’t be unseen; no matter how much parsley they put on top.
And you pay the equivalent of a great meal in a good restaurant