The Lacey Super Buffet... or as I call it "The Joy-Less Club...is an experience in charmless dining. Upon walking in the door the startled hostess looked up from her phone long enough to ask "how many" and point me to a waiter who seated me, and as per usual asked what I would like to drink. As he shambled off to fetch my tea I visited the restroom. Noting the standing water (?) behind the toilet, I wondered what the rest of the evening had in store. The restaurant itself was devoid of customers save a couple of gents over against the wall who were finishing up their meals. The large restaurant, decorated in a Mandarin vernacular, was bright but cheerless. Muffled music emanated from speakers somewhere above, but was insufficient to mask the monotonous drone of refrigeration units and the occasional clang of a pan from the back kitchen. The staff, who to a number appeared indifferent to my presence, did not even bother to try to hide their boredom. The hostess walked around listlessly pushing a broom in one hand, and holding her phone in the other. Her complete attention was focused on her game. The two waiters retired to a booth and laid down. Their legs dangling off the end of the banquette into the aisle way. One can only assume they were young lovers, making doe eyes at each other across the space under the table. I've attached a photo here. I perused the offerings, noting that much of the fare appeared to have been in place undisturbed for quiet some time. The sushi looked appealing enough so I selected a few pieces from the trays. The wasabi, carefully smoothed into a dome in its serving bowl, appeared to have developed a dry crust being exposed to the air as it was. Other options, similarly undisturbed and exposed to the air, and further abetted by the heat of the steam tables and heat lamps, had likewise began the process of mummification. Baked fillets of fish appeared to be completely desiccated and sat in their bone dry pan looking glumly like dried cod. Wontons, adrift in a shallow pan of broth, their tops exposed to air and heat lamps, had turned leathery. Peanut chicken was a crispy peanut breading encasing a strip of chicken jerky, moistened with an oily peanut sauce. There were a few forlorn pieces of Peking duck in the next tray, which offered more jerky textures, this time topped with a succulent cap of salty fat. I pried a fried salt and pepper shrimp off its final resting place... it proved the be shatteringly crisp, the hot table having rendered every last bit of moisture from its little carcass. There really wasn't anything on the hotlines that appeared fresh. It was all quite neglected and dried out. I realize that 8:30 on a Monday is bound to be a slow time, and I know it is a challenge to keep dozens of offerings freshly supplied and looking appetizing fit one guest late on a Monday. But pity the poor guest who pays $16 for this disappointment.
At the end of my visit, the hostess came to my table, asked if I would like anything else. I said "no, I'm done." She said again "Do you want any desserts or anything." And I said, "No, nothing else." I thought I'd sit for a moment and sip some tea but then.... I don't know if she gave a secret signal or rang a buzzer or what, but suddenly she and the waiters and every person from back in the kitchen sprang to life and descended on the buffet with carts and began disassembling everything. They came at it like they were looting the place. Ladles and tongs were being tossed into a big pan, half of them clattering to the ground. They grabbed up trays of food and unceremoniously tossed them onto the waiting carts, stacking them up one on top of the other. Just tossing it. It was a bizarre spectacle. The imagery of it ... the food they had just sold me for $16 bucks ... next destination: dumpster. Boy that makes a person feel good about their meal! I suppose that is the fate of all buffet food at the end of the night. It feels so disrespectful some how. No respect for me. No respect for their product. No respect for the establishment or their employer. They were totally indifferent to me being there at this point. I got up to leave, setting my bill and cash ... exact change... on the counter where one of the waiters could see it. No "Thank you! Have a good night! Come again!" Joyless. Empty. I left determined to write a good Yelp review and that was the only thing that kept me from feeling depressed about the whole experience. Truly dreadful. The offerings really were dismal at the charmless and gloomy Joy-Less Club. read more