Rating / 2 out of 5 stars

Everyone I know appears to have some sort of childhood memory of Uncle Willy’s — that quintessentially mid-80′s dining phenomenon known as the all-you-can-eat buffet. Quite frankly, it surprises me to no end that this artifact of the past is still around. On a mutual dare, a group of us decided to head out to Uncle Willy’s to revisit this culinary curiosity and to reminisce about days gone by. Fried chicken and ice cream, here we come.

(Clockwise: 1. The Roast Beef is actually not bad. 2. Lime Jello, a classic buffet condiment. 3. Uncle Willy’s has a time limit policy — you know, so you don’t stick around overnight for breakfast the next morning.)

Not much has appeared to have changed at Uncle Willy’s, although to be quite honest any memories I have about the restaurant is just a haze of foggy recollections of extended family gatherings. The parental generation has always regarded Uncle Willy’s as good value — whatever twisted notion of value that cramming as much food into your face as your stomach could handle actually offered.

We arrived on an early weekday evening and the restaurant was unsurprisingly empty. The vast restaurant felt like a cafeteria in a retirement home. One corner of the restaurant was cordoned off with tape. We paid for our meal and received a green slip with the rules of dining printed on them. Our friend Steve, who had arrived earlier and was already seated at a booth, had already been admonished for not displaying his green ticket on the table. Rules are important here.

(Clockwise: 1. A plate of food, including the infamous fried chicken. 2. The roast chicken is roasted on-site and is perfectly edible. 3. The feed line.)

When we’ve all settled, staking our claim on a table in the middle of the restaurant, we headed towards the beginning of the buffet line. The familiar row of heat lamps hovering over trays of steaming food was highlighted by neon signs proclaiming a particular section as a certain course in the meal. There were the old standbys: green salad with your choice of familiar dressing: italian, thousand island, ranch; corn niblets; peas and carrots; some kind of pasta; french fries; roast potatoes and mashed potatoes with gravy. There were also some new dishes I didn’t recall having seen before: sweet and sour pork; curry chick peas and chow mein. Dishes like the pasta were predictably terrible: haphazardly seasoned and the consistency of baby food. Others like the corn niblets and peas and carrots were sufficiently adequate, as these canned and frozen types of products are ideal for withstanding abuse.

What most of us were actually looking forward to was the infamous carvery and the fried chicken. There, at the end of the line — the holy grail of the buffet. Meat. Today (as it was decades ago), they had roast ham and roast beef. The server at the end dutifully slices off two thin layers of meat and gingerly places it on our plate. The ham was a bit dry, but otherwise the flavour was decent. The roast beef was not bad: adequately seasoned and tender and moist (depending on what end you get sliced off).

The famed fried chicken didn’t disappoint. I mean, it wasn’t outstanding by any stretch, but the batter was nice and crunchy and the majority of the pieces were quite juicy.

(Clockwise. The four desserts of the apocalypse. 1. Cream Puff. 2. Rice Pudding. 3. Apple Crumble. 4. Chocolate Brownie.)

The dessert bar was basically a stainless steel and glass cabinet, much like that of your typical high school cafeteria. Lonely, carefully portioned cups of dessert sat waiting in the chiller awaiting someone to select them. Together, with our friends Steve, Mike and Virg, Case and I altogether tried out the soft serve, cream puff, rice pudding, chocolate brownie, apple crumble and lime jello. The cream puff, we were told, was decent. We found, however, the rice pudding and apple crumble to be hideously unappetizing. The chocolate brownie was so-so, but suffered from being dried out while the lime jello had a similar texture to a rubber tire.

Overall, for just under $30 for two people — we found it to be a terrible value. Consuming large quantities of subpar food is not a good deal, no matter how you slice it. It wasn’t all bad, though. For 3 hours, we enjoyed  reminiscing and carousing, well past the 1.5 hour limit. To be fair, we really only ate for 1 hour, the rest was just friendly chatter — proving that even the most terrible meals could be enjoyed in the company of good friends.

If the stars are properly aligned one day, then we may do what our friend Steve suggested — come back in 15 years and try it all again.

Perfect for: reliving the past or preparing yourself for winter hibernation.

The Details

6411 Nelson Avenue, Burnaby
604.431.0399

Rating / 3 out of 5 stars

Saravanaa Bhavan is a Vegetarian, South Indian restaurant chain with 48 locations across the world. One of them ended up here on West Broadway in the exact spot that once housed a previous incarnation of Phnom Penh. We heard they had Dosas.

We strolled into Saravanna Bhavan knowing very little about the restaurant. We didn’t even realize it was a chain until after we walked outside and saw their sign proudly proclaiming their other locations including several back East. The interior structure has remained largely unchanged from the Phnom Penh days. However, the bar has received some upgrades making it resemble something like a South Indian version of Starbucks — slick, modern, with all sorts of shiny coffee and tea making contraptions occupying the table tops.

We didn’t know that for weekend lunch it was buffet time, so as we sat at our table there were all sorts of comically uncomfortable blank stares thrown around by ourselves and the servers. Finally, Case flagged one of the servers down and asked for the lowdown. She looked visibly disappointed when informed of the lunch time buffet, but the friendly server replied that Dosas were to be had as well — freshly made dosas would be paraded around and offered to guests as they came out of the kitchen along with other freshly made goodies.

(Clockwise: 1. Big Dosa. 2. Vada and Idly, donut and rice patty. 3. Poori, a puffed up whole wheat bread — don’t worry, it’s deep fried, so it tastes like its not good for you.)

I won’t even attempt to try to identify the various dishes we picked out, so I’ll just present to you what their weekend lunch buffet menu is: Dosa, Idly, Vada, Potato Masala, Rava Kichadi, Rasam, Sambar, Vatral Kozhambu, Porial, Spicy Potato Masala, Kootu, Special Rice Of The Day, Rice, Channa, Aloo Baingan, Mutter Paneer, Dal Fry, Naan, Parotta, Poori, Curd, Rice, Pickles, Pachadi, Thogaiyal, Papads, Payasam, Kesari, Gulab Jamun or Rasmalai.

Case and I also ordered two cups of tea, which arrived in a stainless steel teacup with a layer of foam. It was like a milder Chai Tea, but was still very flavourful. The food was okay, but we weren’t completely blown away. Most of the flavour had a sour and salty note, possibly from the heavy use of cheeses and yogourts in the ingredients. There was a lot of deep fried foods: the Poori — a round, puffed up bread with a wonderful crunch; Vada, a deep-fried donut made from lentil; and rice papadum, which has a similar texture to an oversized shrimp chip.

(Clockwise: 1. Fancy foam tea in a stainless steel cup. 2. Gulab Jamun, milk balls deep fried and drenched in syrup and rose water. 3. Some sort of tapioca and noodle dessert in sweet milk.)

As for the Dosas — well, they were okay. Perhaps the the non-buffet Dosas are better, but the crepe on this one was a bit tough and the flavours weren’t all that distinguishable. The service was quite friendly, and although the experience didn’t overwhelmingly wow us, the large variety of vegetarian-only dishes — many of which we didn’t get to try — looked intriguing enough for another visit. Our meal with two teas came to just under $30 with taxes and tips, which is a much better deal if you arrive after a really long fast.

Perfect for: an afternoon of gorging yourself on a vegetarian smorgasboard.

The Details

955 West Broadway, Vancouver
604.732.7700
saravanaabhavan.ca