Should ‘all you can eat’ actually mean all … you … can … eat?
Our growing waistlines notwithstanding, the latest debate over an all-you-can-eat dinner special comes to us via Wisconsin. Man eats 20 pieces of fried fish. Man is still hungry. Man calls the police and protests outside the restaurant over what he considers false advertising.
Odds are, we all don’t possess the prodigious appetite of Bill Wisth, but he does represent an extreme ideal of the basic approach for most of us when we go to a buffet – we’re determined to get our money’s worth. It’s why we don’t fill up on breadsticks at Olive Garden or the cold salads at Em Chamas. We wait for the prime cuts to come around to the table. Still, should all-you-can-eat really mean all-you-can-eat, or should restaurants be able to cut us off (either because they’re out of food or because our breathing has become dangerously labored)?