Izzy's Overload

Here I am on a Sunday afternoon, sitting in a booth at Izzy's, working on my second plate of delectable food. "I love America," I say to my sister and Travis, who are sitting across from me. Because in what other country is it socially acceptable to have three empty plates on your table and then go in for more? Certainly not Africa, which is actually more of a continent.

I am sitting here, proud that I am hungry. Happy that I have such a voracious appetite. See, the week prior I had been suffering from Stomach Rot. Stomach Rot is a non-medical term I just came up with to describe the wretched non-flu related pain and barfing that snatched hold of my body. It's when your intestines just kind of give up working and start to rot right inside your body. Not only does eating food make you sick, but not eating food makes you sick. You're trying to go about your daily life with your innards just rotting away. Occasionally you may throw some of them up, as I did. Doing this in sight of the school children you work with may disgust and worry them.

As far as I know, I'm the only known case of Stomach Rot, though I suspect pirates used to suffer from it. That, and Scurvy, but thanks to multivitamins most people (sailors included) no longer have that problem. I had to ease food very cautiously back into my diet. And here I was feeling fantastic, ready to really eat and make up for those five days of wretchedness.

I go in for another helping. This time I actually go to the salad bar. I use tongs to pick out pineapple and orange slices. I pile on the Caesar salad. Then I go back to the grill to get some more of those delicious vegetables. That's right, a second helping of vegetables. They have that grilled, barbecue flavor to them, and as I'm eating them I can't help but wonder why people love food that tastes smokey. Smoked cheese, smoked salmon, smokey burgers, smokey pizza....it all tastes delicious and I can't figure out why. I mean, when you are trapped in your house with the walls burning down around you, you hardly think "Oh, what a delicious flavor." Maybe it's because it's your own skin that's about to shrivel. Also, take fire pits for example. I love a good marshmallow roasting pit just as much as the next girl, but I abhor the smoke that wafts in my hair and stings my eyes. And cigarettes. That is the nastiness scent I know. But still, people like a good grilled meal.

When I used to be a teacher, there was a co-worker I knew who liked to pour smokey sauce into her V8 tomato juice to give it a better flavor. I personally found it disgusting. Tomato juice is gross on its own, but you are going to straight up drink smokey sauce with it? Yuck. Why don't you just add a pickle to the side while you're at it.

But back to Izzy's and its deliciousness. After three plates, I finally decided to go in for dessert. I get a little bowl full of Oreo pudding, a freshly hot cinnamon roll, two chocolate chip cookies, and one oatmeal cookie. I eat the pudding first, and while it is thick, creamy, and Oreo flavored, there is also something rather wrong about it. You know, the same sort of wrongness that Velveeta and Twinkies share. I continue eating the speckled delight, but imagine to myself that Izzy probably orders this pudding by the bucket full. It probably doesn't expire for five years and can sit open without getting moldy.

Worried about my impending health, I stab my fork into the heart of the cinnamon roll. Every body knows that the middle of the sticky bun is the best. I eat it first, because what if I get so full working my way to the middle that I can't even bring the center bit to my lips, and I have to leave it on the plate, wasted?

I look up at my sister and Travis, who both have decided to get soft serve ice cream (no toppings) as their only dessert. Are they mad? What kind of person chooses out-of-a-dispenser ice cream when they could be eating preservative chocked Oreo pudding or a hot cinnamon roll? This isn't Cold Stone. There isn't good ice cream coming out of that machine.

But people shouldn't be judged at Izzy's, so I say nothing. Instead I bite into my little oatmeal cookie and eat it very slowly. The three of us decide that we will all go take naps in our respective homes. There's nothing like a Sunday afternoon nap after a 12 pound buffet lunch.

I sit there, worried. I've still got two cookies sitting on my plate, and it would be a shame to waste them. I look back up at my sister. She understands.

"Darn, I forgot to line my purse with foil," I joke. But it's not really a joke. I prefer to use Ziploc baggies. You're able to keep the juices in that way.

Surreptitiously, Jess slides me a fresh napkin. I casually place my cookies on it. I look over my shoulder and scan the immediate area. It is safe from employees. I wrap the napkin up over the cookies, but leave it on the table for another moment. Jess fakes falling asleep right their in the booth. In a quick second, I put the napkin in my purse, like the 75 year old woman I am.

I don't know why people joke about old folks at buffets taking food home with them. In my experience, I've known a lot of young people try to take home whatever free food they can. Most of these individuals have been college students. High school students are nearly as zealous about taking left overs, because they are still living at home and at least half of them still have parents cooking dinner for them nightly or giving them lunch money. Many college students don't have that luxury. Like homeless people, they take food where they can get it. The difference is, a lot of college students have mini fridges to keep the stuff cold.

The fork lift finally arrives to scoop me, Jess, and Travis from our seat inside the restaurant to my car. In case you didn't know, Izzy's has a contract with Home Depot. You'd be surprised how many times patrons of Izzy complain that they can't move and need help to their cars. The Home Depot fork lift drivers make bank on this little service.

Once in the car, we drive home. I drop Jess and Travis off so that they can take a nap, then I go cuddle up on the World's Most Comfy Couch and sleep for three hours. I don't eat until the next morning.