The Sacramento Chronicle

Dining and whining: Getting my fill from Sacramento’s buffet circuit

Greetings, greetings, Sacramento foodists! I have missed you in my absence from your eyes and minds. Yes, I, Mr. Fleck Whineman, have taken a two-week vacation for some much-needed soul searching and a delightful visit from Mother. However now I return, like a hungry phoenix, to grace your minds-appetite with the fineries of dining here in this, the wonderful city of trees! Ha, ha!

Reader, do you ever experience a powerful hunger? I arose on The First of this fine winter month with what I refer to as a ‘hunger red-alert.’ I had skipped my normal 11:30 p.m. meal and I was in dire need of sustenance for my stomach. As I stepped outside into the wonderfully foggy and crisp Sacramento morning, my body and mind begged to come along as well! Ha, ha!

I jauntily hopped into my conveyance and drove with a window down, to allow my nose to do what it does best: scout out deliciousness wherever it may hide. I knew today would be something special. The aura of the morn’ was leading me to the fine feast of kings, attainable to the common man: the buffet.

Did you know, reader, that the buffet dates from times of Scandinavian antiquity? The Smorgasbord was a table-sized meal for many, with stunning variety of delectable items for the hungry Swede. In modernity, the buffet has become an American tradition, popularized by the notion of ‘All one can eat.’ We shall test that today, reader, yes?

Dismaying as it is, Sacramento has no dedicated breakfast buffet. Never fear, though, reader, for I have a solution — join me at The Pancake Circus and simply order as many entrees as you desire! Each will come piping hot to you, with a topper of the brown liquid of the working man, coffee, as the beverage par choix. I started with a corned-beef hash, and finished with 8 pancakes made ‘Whineman style’ (a small recess in the middle for a scoop of whipped butter!) You read the words of a satisfied diner, friends!

With my hunger subsided for a time, I took the quick drive to downtown Sacramento. Oh, the sights! The sounds of a city alive! By the time I had parked, it was around 12:45 p.m. and I felt a familiar dissonance from my midsection: the specter, hunger, had returned!

Luckily, I was in and around the K Street pedestrian thoroughfare and its crown jewel of dining, The Upper Crust. For a paltry fare of 10 dollars, one may experience the overwhelmingly popular pasto forza: the pizza, in an abundance of one’s choosing. Ask politely at the front desk and the help will kindly make you a pie of your choosing (A tip: order an irregular combination of toppings to have 8 slices of delight to yourself - anyone for anchovies, mayonnaise, and bacon? ha, ha!)

Despite having another meal under my now tighter belt, ha, ha, I was feeling strangely light and airy. The winter wind whipped, yet I remained warm with the solace of a job-well-eaten. I drove happily along as the sun sank into the western sky and the aerie of luminosity, the stars themselves, arose for their cold February watch. And, again, my fair readers, hunger struck. This time, it manifested as a pang, a wont — almost erotically did the message come to my attention. I lusted for food, a predatory urge consumed me (pun intended, ha, ha!)

I found myself quickly pulling into a neon-lit parking lot after seeing an inviting-and-familiar word: Buffet. The China Buffet seemed to exude old-world charm wrapped in the glitz of golden-era Reno: I was in the correct place.

The smell of the sea sunk into my pores as I walked through the door - warm, salty and inviting — the scent of the fisherman’s bedroom after the fight of the catch. I loaded my plate with two plump lobsters and one stick of butter and sat, ready to eat. Then I sampled the delights of the Orient - the Chowed Mein and the Rice-Fry were perfectly seasoned and in convenient steam-tray-sized portions. And dear readers, they even had the cooked leg-portion of that agreeable amphibian, the frog! Needless to say, I remained until the lights had dimmed and the chairs were being placed on tables, and I left almost in haste — if only an establishment this fine could be open 24 hours.

I started home, ready to rest and dream of my day and meals to come. Will you join me, reader, in the wonderful, buttercream-iced culinary dreamscape?

Dining and whining: Finding my sea-legs at the Mercantile Saloon

Welcome Sacramento food and drink lovers to my inaugural Dining and Whining column! I’ll be your matre’d. Fleck Whineman’s the name, nice to greet you. I’m a 4.5 month native of Sacramento, originally hailing from Bangor, Maine. I recieved my Associate’s degrees in food technology and woodshop at Bangor Community College, so I’m very comfortable as a foodist’s liaison (and still have all my fingers, ha, ha!)

Food is a passion of mine, so much so that I often have four, maybe six complete meals a day. I’ve found the options in this city are simply limitless, from “few’d couture” to “hamburgers du’jour.” I hope we can spend many wonderful years together filling our bellies with the meats and vegetables of our shared cultural harmony. And french fries. Delicious, savory french fries. And possibly a milkshake, dear reader? Ha, ha!

And so our story begins on a dreary Wednesday afternoon. I had just arisen from my second afternoon nap hungry for an afternoon drive. My meandering path through the gridded streets of our city’s fair Mid-town district gave way to a powerful rumble emanating from within my gullet. It was, my gentle reader, a hunger for both a delightful nosh and a powerful bite of community.

I left my trusty steed of 1993 Toyota Tercel hitched in a parking garage and began my dainty saunter. As if on cue, a tempest of a noreaster of a gentle breeze scooted me along westerly until I saw a lively converted Victorian. Attached was a patio filled with the din of the human experience. Ah! Here was a place to whet my appetite and whistle.

Upon stepping through the swinging door of what I learned was the Mercantile Saloon (forgive me, reader, I did know at this point it was a house of libations rather than a 4 star restaurant) I was immediately greeted with the flush of humanity.

Upon exiting the conveniently located restroom (I find it best to ‘clear ones pallate’ before any dining experience) I sat down at the front bar.

“Barkeep,” I barked. “I am a critic for the Sacramento Chronicle. Bring me your finest spirit, combined with your second finest spirit, two packets of Sugar in the Raw, and a cocktail onion. And I would like to see your menu of specials d’nom.”

The spry bartender looked me up and down with a predatory but welcoming glare. “two-fifty, baby.” He finally replied with a Mona Lisa smile. “There’s a snack machine in the corner. And don’t call me barkeep, bitch.” Lo! So alive with the out-pour and muster of the human experience!

While waiting for my beverage I took the time to glance around at the decor. The name suggested a fantasy of a life at sea, and the decor did not disappoint. With porthole style windows and ruddy wood furniture, I felt as if I was delivering kegs of spices for the East India Trading company, I did! Ha, Ha! Brightly colored flags hung from the ceiling, clearly indicating the spirit of light and togetherness that we all share as a people. I felt welcomed.

I received my beverage in a large glass typically reserved for a pint of Mr. Weiser’s famed lager-beers. The beverage was abrim with a green liquid. The barman referred to it as a ‘Nut-Buster,’ and I can only assume this is but one of many fine specials devised by their head mixologist. A sample taste revealed a biting fruit taste with high overtones of artificial watermelon flavoring, and a strong finish of potato-based spirit (what the Kamchatka bear trapper would call ‘wodka’). I must admit, dear reader, I found this beverage to be so invigorating that I might have been accused of a slurp or two at the end, ha, ha!

Shortly after I helped myself to the supply of “Munchies” in the snack machine (Slot E4 for the snack-savvy among us) and I raised a single digit in the air to indicate another beverage. The bartender, as if sensing my gesture with back-turned eyes, turned, raised another finger in response, and slid another virtuous concoction down the bar at me. I responded with a smile and full-scale tip of seventy-five cents.

As I sat on the comfortable stool enjoying my third beverage, the bar awoke with the sound of the working class man. I see, I thought to my inner monologue, this must be the bar of constructors, machine operators, and other true ‘blue collar’ fellows. What luck! I was inserted into a group of mans men, a true confederacy of brothers. Would we be crooning a shanty into the night’s wee hours, overfilled mugs of mead hoisted into the air? My mind’s senses reeled with the possibilities.

Dear reader! I must confess something to you now. After my fourth beverage I seem to have succumbed to a mild amnesia. I recount what I can recall. A Carnival-like setting, with dancing women and flashes of toned skin. The sounds of screeching tracks d’discoteque, played at high volume. True brotherhood, man and man locked arm in arm and waist to waist, celebrating the fruits of their busy day. Unfortunate splashes of wasted beverage from those who had enjoyed ‘one too many.’And much more, though obscured in visage by the banshee of the spirit - the lord of intoxication.

I arose in the early morning not where I imagined myself to be, not in my comfortable guest room at all but prone against a cinder block wall near the main railway, with my tie wrapped about my head in the style of the samurai. I dusted my sleeves and headed home for a deserved morning rest.

What had actually happened will be left to the ages and the times of legend. But I do know that I will return to the fair Merchantile whenever I am in need of a refreshing beverage garnished with the triumph of the male will.

4 enthusiastic thumbs up!