I rue the day we ever met Wandering Horse.\nI was once young and beautiful, even handsome by some standards.\nNot now. Not today. \nToday I'm a wretched ogre of a human, a jackal of sorts.\nOne whose eating habits, more traditionally, the 'chewing' of ones food, has now been supplanted by a more efficient process; mastication, and it's all your fault.\n\nIt's true. \nThanks to Wandering Horse, I don't simply eat food anymore, I devour it. \nWaiting at least five minutes after being seated so as to not appear the grievous sort I've become, this as my salivary glands rev, I pretend to be cool. I'm not. \nFive minutes are up. Time to pounce.\n\nSalads, breads or appetizers have no place in my digestive tract. These only create digestive confusion and, slow my consumption of the big ticket items. I lock onto the grilled meat and seafood.\n\nGo time. \nMost, if not all of the lobster claws in the shellfish section. Gone.\nKobe prime steaks, never tasted a one, but I inhaled six. (They're small, don't judge me).\nAnd the cherrystone clams in garlic pesto....what garlic, what pesto? Those rubbery little fucks were little more than a distraction while plotting my next moves. \nThe dessert station.\n\nThe dessert station is located in the center of the buffet, a thirty foot oval where two tiers of tiny little plates abound, and atop them...every imaginable dessert creation. \nBut I don't fall for the tiny dessert plate trick. They exist for for a reason.\nManagement is smart. They know I can only hold a couple of these plates at best, forcing return trips.\nWell fuck that. I've got a better plan.\n\nFirst, I locate one of the largest dinner plates from the entree section I can find.\nNext, I don't think about whether or not I want to try something. Hell no.\n I try one of everything because it just feels right. And besides, I have the right tool for the job with this big plate. \nI begin loading my big plate by spilling the contents of the tiny plates onto it. \n\n\""Aren't you the least bit embarrassed?\"" my wife sputters. \n\nFuck no, I'm not embarrassed.\nIf anyone should be embarrassed, it's Wandering Horse's management for this conniving little curveball...forcing me to make several walk 'o shame trips with a small, hard to handle dessert plate. \n\nI begin racing around the oval station like it's the Indy 500, lapping the slow-moving, indecisive dessert-goers, (my wife included) and in the process, dumping at least one of everything onto the big plate. A move that shockingly, earned me the respect of the staff.\n\nAfter my first full lap, the staff, stationed inside the dessert oval actually began to assist by following me, relieving me of the tiny dessert plates as quickly as I could spill their contents onto my dessert trough.\nA big five stars for the dessert staff for keeping up with me on my frenzy. \nYou guys rock.\n\nNow....if only there were a dark cave where I could slip into... an enclave... a retreat from society where I can savor the spoils of my toils. \n\nPS. All of this, including the ensuing sugar-high from the dessert racetrack for only $26.95. \nEvery ogre's dream.