Galilee Grill
TV count: 0
Kubbi I ate count: 32
Super buffets can be dangerous. They can be old-people-ridden. They can have room-temperature sushi next to room-temperature marshmallow barf Jell-O. They can include boobie dancers, sweat-panty lap dances and all-you-can-eat herpes. Or they can be so awesome that they make you believe in Jesus. At Galilee Grill, the buffet is most definitely religion-inspiring.
The restaurant is big, and there's lots of seating, so do a favor for every waiter of every casual dining place in town and bring that 12-top of special-ordering, "No thanks, I'll just have water," split-checking people you pretend are your friends at work here instead. You can wow them with the chic minimalist décor. It's sort of like an Olive Garden must look before they fill it with bad art and snobby attitudes and shit from the European knickknack store.
It's open from 11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., it's exactly $10 with a drink, and it's all-you-can-eat from a selection of some 20 dishes. They have gyros. And good hummus. And four different salads. And kebabs. And kaftas. And they have kubbi. This changed me. A kubbi is a fuckin' stuffed hushpuppy. (You're all, "But a hushpuppy is just fried stuffing." And I'm all, "Thanks, asshole. I know what a hushpuppy is. This one's stuffed with more stuff. It's like the Double Stuf Oreo of the hushpuppy world." And you're all, "Oh.")
The only exception to the all-you-can-eatness is the pita bread: They ration this, handing you a basket with just a few pieces at a time. This is probably a wise cost-saving measure, but it's predicated on the completely false premise that I would feel even an iota (that's Greek for "an amount smaller than a hamster dick") of shame in returning to the front six or seven more times to ask for pita refills. If you, unlike me, feel too embarrassed to admit that you're on your ninth gyros sandwich and need something to hold your gyros meat—just grab more gyros meat your first time at the buffet and tell people you're on the Fatkins Diet.
