It was a flight of fancy that drove my coworker and I to dine at the infamous location known as "King Buffet". Blissfully unaware were we of the dismal reviews seen here on Yelp. We called the "restaurant" (if that word may be degraded down to that level) and inquired how much the dining experience was. The swift reply came: "$17.99". Delighted at such a reasonable price, we made the decision to feast. How wrong were we, O Lord, how wrong were we! The empty parking lot (3 cars in a rather large parking lot) and the blue tarpaulins covering strange, lumpy protuberances on the front porch should have been a warning (like the bright stripes on a venomous snake). Undaunted and having an appetite fit for a king, we passed by the sickly koifish and generally unkempt front porch and entered the establishment. The "lobby" was simply a gate to prevent the non-paying public from gazing upon the man-made horrors beyond. After being charged 22 United States Dollars and eight cents, we were allowed entry into the museum of rancidity. We were sat down at a sticky table right in front of another patron by the non-English-speaking server, and were forced to gaze at the condiments which had surely been sitting there since Chi'en Lung gained the crown. The first trip through the stations of suffering yielded various delicacies such as: yellow-fever food-colored fried rice with desiccated peas; gray, room-temperature tuna sushi; room-temperature cream "crab" rangoons; cold meat dumplings with the taste and texture of human excrement, among other frightful "foods". The next two trips yielded smaller and even more disgusting portions. The fried plantain was not even partially edible, and the Mongolian beef was icy cold, and had the taste of a chunk of flesh found in the gullet of a dying bear. The sushi was tried again, to our great regret. Our dismay at eating possibly week-old, stale, discolored fish was only topped by the "hot and sour soup". My compatriot almost met his end at the knurled hands of this abomination. The flavor profile could be described as battery acid carefully simmered with a long-expired rat. Dessert: the final adversary. A sea of off-brand Jello (I have never tasted Jello that was too dense, but King Buffet had another trick up its sleeve) met our eyes; bananas strangely baptized in an unholy red concoction; blue-colored "mint" whipped cream(?); soft-serve ice cream from a machine clearly not cleaned since the birth of the new millennium; and vanilla pudding that was actually spoiled. I am not quite sure how long that takes, but King Buffet was the perfect breeding ground for such a rare occurrence. The shining star of the dessert table was the octopus salad. I had to taste it for the sake of science (and possibly the coroner). It did not disappoint in terms of inedibility. It was if I was eating raw rubber dipped in pepper oil. Tasty. The atmosphere could warrant a separate post. A distinct, sickly cough could be heard in the kitchen(!), a hacking, phlegmatic cough that proverbially shivered our timbers. "Workers" were having long, loud conversations in Mandarin no more than two feet from my head. Leaning on our booth while doing so seemed to be a house specialty. The lack of customers was also notable. In the house of the King, he seemed to have no guests dining at his table. For most of our captivity, we were the sole serfs seeking succor from the Poop Deity (for that was in sooth the true identity of the King). The aftereffects of our experiences would be too vile to put on Yelp, but rest assured that what went in, came out. Needless to say, we were changed. Altered. Different than when we were. We were mere infants in the realm of the Defecation Emperor. We have now experienced the Reckoning that is King Buffet: the Whorehouse of Buffets, the fine dining experience of Hell itself. Be warned, thou who seeks to sate thy hunger in the embraces of King Buffet. He who embraces you is a liar, a daemon, an incubus of Sino-cuisine. read more