My son plays golf. He came to it entirely on his own, having never stepped on a course in his life before becoming a part of the school’s golf team. He picked up his first club as a freshman, and found that it was something he really enjoyed. Hooray!

I’m so glad that he found something that gives him such pleasure. He studies the game and talks about the game and even occasionally watches the pros or reads articles in golf magazines. Last summer my sweetheart discovered a great golf camp offered by our local university, run by their acclaimed NCAA coaches. It was a stretch financially, but we sent him. He also takes lessons at a local golf “superstore.” What can I say? The boy enjoys golf.

I’m especially glad he found it because it gives him some exercise and is something he can enjoy well past his teenage years. Neither his dad nor I play, and nobody ever suggested he take it up, so it’s something that is entirely his.

Last night his team held their end of the season dinner. As a freshman last year, he failed to mention this event to anyone until the last minute, then didn’t let us know that it was for families as well as players. Grr. This year I got more information out of him, and both his dad and I were able to attend.

The location chosen was a giant warehouse of a restaurant, a buffet type place that I won’t name, but it’s kind of like Silver Paddock. I had never been at this place before, and I will never return. Unless there’s another golf dinner there. Which there probably will be. Ugh.

The teenage boys love this place, which is why the coach selected it. Of course they love it, they are ravenous and there is so much food here, all of it available in whatever quantity one desires. I was hungry too, so I grabbed my plate and made the long trek to the start of the culinary display.

Way way down at the beginning of the line was the salad section. It was virtually deserted, and not terribly inviting with a few bowls of greens and some sad looking shredded carrots and garbanzo beans next to a couple of vats of mayo based concoctions. There were some jello creations too, and a couple of other odd things thrown in for good measure. Frankly, I was a little put off.

I continued down the line, plate still empty, past the soup station. Greasy vats of unknown origin simmered, waiting to be slurped down. Pass. Then I entered the Mexican section. Considering I live in the Southwest, this was pitiful. There were hard taco shells, some seasoned meat, and gooey nacho cheese, the kind you get out of a can. No thanks.

After that was the “Thanksgiving Dinner” portion of the food line. There were meats and side dishes galore, oh, and a tray of carrots. I took some of those, and a small dollop of mashed potatoes. As I continued on I found three varieties of chicken. I added a small chicken breast, bbq style, to my plate.

I hurried past the crowd waiting for leathery looking steaks, on to the deep fried section. There, fried chicken, shrimp, okra, potatoes, hush puppies, fish, and who knows what else waited to jump onto people’s plates. At this point I looked at my plate and decided that I had endured enough of this madness. I headed to my seat to eat.

It was okay. Not awful. Not great. Okay. Person after person around me devoured the food on their plates and popped up to get more. I stayed put.

The festivities concluded and my son and I got in the car to go home. “Did you notice anything about the demographics of that place?” he asked.

“Everyone in there was fat,” I replied, not missing a beat.

I’m glad he noticed. He’s not fat, and of course there were a few people in the restaurant who weren’t, but most of them were. Judging by how packed this place was on a Wednesday night, this restaurant must make a killing on the feeding of fat people. Quantity has definitely won out over quality in this scenario, and people were not only okay with this, they were clamoring for more.

I didn’t even mention the dessert section, which was by far the largest area of the buffet. There was chocolate flowing from some contraption and there were cakes, cookies, pies, brownies, and even cottons candy. Yes, gobs of spun sugar to top off your fat laden all you can eat feeding frenzy. Gross.

The experience reminded me of the buffet scene in Vegas Vacation. I cannot watch that scene without gagging. The movie is a favorite at our house, but that scene is so revolting that I have to leave the room when it plays. Perhaps if more people watched it, the Silver Paddock wouldn’t be so full of fatties.