It was a crisp autumn morning, and my family and I had embarked on a pilgrimage- yes, a pilgrimage- to the one place where dreams are served on oversized plates: Shady Maple. My stomach had been preparing for this moment for days. I skipped dinner the night before, drank only water, and even did a few stretches to maximize buffet efficiency.
As we stepped inside, the aroma of fresh pancakes, sizzling bacon, and that glorious Pennsylvania Dutch cooking hit me like a warm hug from an Amish grandmother. The stakes were high. Could I conquer the buffet in all its glory? Could I do justice to the dozens of dishes laid before me?
Plate one: Classic breakfast-eggs, scrapple, pancakes the size of a steering wheel, and a little bit of fruit to convince myself I was making ‘healthy choices.’
Plate two: The meats-ham, bacon, sausage, and a daring bite of something mysterious but delicious.
Plate three: Pure chaos-mac and cheese, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and… was that a doughnut? Yes, yes, it was.
By plate four, I had achieved what some might call a ‘food coma,’ but I called it victory. And just as I thought I was finished, a kind Shady Maple employee walked past with a fresh tray of whoopie pies. My family exchanged knowing glances. One last round.
As we rolled out of Shady Maple that day, pants unbuttoned and hearts full, I knew I had experienced something truly special. Some people climb mountains, others run marathons- my greatest achievement was that buffet. And I’d do it all over again.