The Buffet Paradox: Full Stomach, Empty Soul
Tyranny of Possibilities
I’ve found another food truth: the buffet paradox.
You pay. You walk in. You pile your plate. You eat until you’re full—maybe more than. And yet, as you leave, something unsettles you. Why didn’t I have more beef? Why did I bother with the mash? I missed the crab entirely.
You’re full. But not satisfied. Disappointment seeps in.
Once again, the mind betrays the body.
We don’t judge experiences in isolation. We judge them against what might have been. The problem is, that reference point is fiction. bull-dust. Forget the objective. At the buffet, everything is on offer. Fish, caramel, vegetarian options swirling in the memory. You imagine a perfect plate—one you never made—and compare your experience to that.
Reality can only lose to imagination.
There’s something economic under here as well: the sunk cost fallacy. With a buffet, you’ve purchased limitless choice. Theoretically. Your stomach, of course, can’t fulfill impossible duties. Netflix isn’t so different. Thousands of films. But only a few hours each night. A job in the morning. The result is you feel cheated—not because you got too little, but because you had the right to more.
Maybe what we really ought to pay for is this: less choice.
Release me from the tyranny of choice!
I came to eat, not regret.
I once went to a café in Buckingham. The menu was encyclopedic. We sat there, flicking through pages. It felt more like an exam than lunch. My observation for that day: more choice, more pain. It would have actually helped that they had less choice. Maybe the greatest luxury a restaurant can offer is not the entire world of food, but a curated set menu. I don’t want to be the chef. I want to be fed. Give me three good options. Not thirty.
You see those restaurant billboards scream "PIZZA! FISH! KEBAB!” I wonder if they do anything well. It’s an inverse sign of quality. The more you offer – especially on your billboard– the more I discount the quality of your food.
Now think of the small shop that only serves Napoli pizza with anchovies swimming in Sicilian oil. I trust it more. Eat it too.
And that, I think, is the point. Choice is good, but too much corrodes. We crave to choose— but we also long to be chosen for. That, maybe, is a kind of wisdom.
Choose less. my friends. Enjoy more.