Jackson Free Press

As one who always aspired to the ruling class, I seldom found myself at odds with the rules I would one day be destined to enforce. On the rare occasions I committed an infraction, my mother administered a particularly harsh sanction: I was required to eat lunch in the school cafeteria, a Dickensonian chamber with such horrors as the "lunch room lady," Tater Tots and fish sticks. Culinary considerations aside, school cafeterias are a vulgar representation of how the other 90 percent live.

Recently, an acquaintance invited me to accompany him to a casino buffet. Citing the aforementioned degradation associated with my childhood, I at first declined. But, assured by my therapist and beckoned by the possibility of a large amount of food at a low price, I succumbed.

Harrah's (1310 Mulbery St., 601/636-3423) in Vicksburg is the site we visit first. Men in baseball caps and polyester jumpsuits in the company of women with dyed hair, spandex pants and fanny packs line up for the expected feast. These are serious gamblers—those who come with $50 to play the nickel slots all day. Some, in lieu of cash, pay with little slips of paper. I later learn from one of them that these people have their meal "compted." This curious term means the buffet is free. I consult the "Player Services" desk and determine I need to lose approximately $250 in a slot machine to win a $10.50 buffet.

The food at Harrah's is less than impressive—a sort of Piccadilly Light. Selections include home-style veggies either fried or cooked until no trace of a vitamin exists. The salad bar is adequate, and a carving station for roast beef offers generous portions. Obviously baked off-premises, the dessert table displays a standard assortment of pies and cakes. Tea, coffee or soft drinks are included in the price.

Intrigued with this cultural phenomenon, I decide to extend my research to other casino buffets in the state. Thus, we head for the Delta and the buffet (approximately $12) at the Sheraton in Tunica (1107 Casino Center Drive, Robinsonville, 800/391-3777). Although more expansive than Vicksburg, food quality and selection are mediocre. Two bright spots are the salad and dessert bars. The salad bar is large and well maintained while the varied dessert options allow for a pleasing level of decadence. The polyester and spandex (P&S) crowd is present along with their children and young grandchildren. This gives rise to a mystery I never solve: How do the children get across the gaming floor to get to the buffet?

From Tunica we travel southeast to Neshoba County and the Golden Moon Casino (Hwy. 16 West, Philadelphia, 866/447-3275). Reminiscent of Las Vegas, the Choctaws' buffet ($11.83 with tax) offers a large selection of excellent food, carefully prepared, and is presented in a large, well-lighted area decorated with a modern Southwest motif. Peel-and-eat shrimp, homemade deserts, cooked-to-order sirloin steaks and a massive salad bar supplement the usual fare of Southern veggies and catfish. Barbecue, Asian cuisine and pizza are available. Younger gamblers, dressed in jeans, boots and western shirts, dilute the ever-present P&S crowd. Should one suffer from my fear of self-service, more than a dozen restaurants are available between the Golden Moon and the Silver Star. It is well worth the trip.
On the Coast in Biloxi, Beau Rivage (875 Beach Blvd., 888/595-2534) has the mother of all casino buffets ($10.99 to $14.99 plus tax). Dinners are enticed with oven-fired pizza and several made-to-order cooking stations including one for flaming desserts. Selection and quality rival traditional upscale restaurants, and champagne brunches are offered on Saturday and Sunday. Here the spandex portion of the P&S crowd is often wearing shorts. I suspect the casino of paying these people to hang around the buffet to reduce the appetite of the rest of us.
Buffet-ed out, I turn the car toward home, where there is a decidedly lack of polyester and spandex. Despite the attractive features of the buffet, I prefer to be served by an attentive waitperson familiar with the wine list and surrounded by diners dressed in linen and silk. Call me difficult.
Andrew Scott is the pseudonym of a JFP food writer. And, yes, he is difficult.