ADD - Angst of Diverse Dining

On a recent vacay to Laguna Beach to experience The Pageant of the Masters (you simply must go!), our friends, Phil and Donna, made a reservation at a beautiful oceanside restaurant for Sunday brunch.  Sounds amazing, right?  Well, for me, it brings up my hidden diagnosis of A(angst)D(diverse)D(dining). Never heard of it?  Trust me, it's real and produces a stress reaction.  Overwhelm, overload, and serious overeating overtake me.  Am I alone out there?

We arrived at Las Brisas.  Pristine white tablecloths were gently rustling in the perfect fluttering breeze as we were ushered to a table with a view of the Pacific that would take your breath away.  The stage was set.  The hostess waved us indoors toward the $35/person food and beverage extravaganza stretching before me like a trade show, complete with requisite elbowing and jockeying for a coveted place in line.  Slow, distinct panic was beginning to set in.

Our group began to scout.  The options were glorious - from house-made pastries, yogurt parfaits, and tropical fruit to the traditional scrambled egg, benedict, maple-glazed bacon, hand-forged sausages, and breakfast potatoes that were cubed, sliced, or crisped to perfection.  They left me there and disappeared into a line of waffle-waiting potential diners, sighing deeply as golden-brown waffles were precisely plated one at a time.  I panicked and got into that line too.

The woman behind me raised her shoulder.  And in an unprecedented side-stepping spin move, she overtook me.  Huh?  This was becoming blood sport for breakfast.

"Waffling" and waiting in that line were "craft" omelettes also precisely pressed in the checkerboard irons.  Great (yet time consuming) idea.  I stood on one foot, then the other, hoping my chance to choose filling options wouldn't produce "egg envy."  Buck up, Joni (I said to myself).  You've got this!

Finally, the "takedown" artist in front of me got her chance to order.  She asked for 4 waffles and 1 omelette, thus choking off all opportunities for a speedy resolution to my first pass at this station.  I waited impatiently.  Finally, I ordered.  And I received.

My plate was naked, save one waffle disc, stiff and lonely at center plate.  Now, I had to wait in line for the syrup fountain (chocolate too) and jam station.  I'm not making this stuff up. Believe me.

Time to step it up.  A deep breath, and I sprinted to the egg line (foot tap tap tap), then to the fruit line (foot tap tap tap), and, finally, toward toasts and scones (foot tap tap tap). Now, proudly, plate in hand, I headed to our table to enjoy the "fruits of my labor" and great conversation with Phil and Donna.  But, wait, the table was empty.  The others had eaten breakfast Round 1 and were apparently back in line to taste and traverse the tables for the next plating.  I sat down alone, sighed, and dug my fork into the now limp, tepid waffle.

What am I missing here?  Is it even possible to group-dine at a buffet, with syncopated timing, and enjoy hot food together without that panicked feeling of food "FOMO" (fear of missing out)?  My father's words of my long-ago childhood rang out:  "When I go out and pay for a meal, I like to sit down and be served.  None of this standing in long lines with outstretched plates.  I already did that in the army!"

The food looked sublime (as did the other beautiful diners).  And the food was excellent. But the experience left me spent...in all ways.  You?