I Swear To God I Ate At Ryan's Steakhouse Last Night

[VeeJay]

It was my last choice, CiCi's Pizza, and Appleby's before Ryan's. I was with two business associates, and I pled my case.

I have never eaten in a Ryan's before. An auto gag reflex generally ensues - because I have read the Ryan's story posted on this here board many times. I associate Ryan's with upheaved macaroni and beef lodged in sweatpants and dookie on the walls of an otherwise polished, Lysoled tiled wall.

Such is life in all-you-can-eat establishments with a smorgasbord of tour busses flanking the building.

So I am perusing the various and sundry bars (and there are many with salads, entrees, junk, desserts, and what not.)

Then, I locate the Meat Bar. Oh My God, the Meat Bar.

The site of the legend. Ryan's hasn't even changed the menu. There, on the Meat Bar, and next to the sliced potatoes and onions, and in front of the fried chicken (in front meaning my vantage point just over and south of the sneeze glass) was The Offering.

The Macaroni and Beef.

A pile of the orange/red concoction festering in cheap macaroni shells, somewhat in a state of decay. It appeared to not have been spooned or otherwise gigged for hunger appeasement for quite some time. There was no smoke arising from said Meat Bar offering. So it wasn't fresh. It was gross, in a canned, Potted Meat sort of way. With canned, Potted Meat ranking 11 on a scale of 1 to 10.

Indeed, it appeared ripe for Kid's Night and a trip to the toilet to end up with a manager's intervention and the wife unit heading for the K-Mart to purchase a three pack of Fruit of the Looms.

I strongly encourage my fellow Sooner fans to visit your local Ryan's. This is an experience that must not go unfulfilled. And if you actually partake of the macaroni and beef, ye shall forever remain a legend in these parts.

Your Sincere Loyalty,
VJ

[Sooner24]

So you went back for seconds?

[yermom]

i don't think i've ever eaten there

not that i remember anyway, maybe once

[royalfan5]

I really don't think CiCi's would have been much of an upgrade.

[yermom]

Fece's?

[goingoneight]

You always hear people talk about the generic "Sizzler" when they mention steakhouses and AYCE restaurants, but there is actually a chain in Florida called "Sizzler." Best all you can eat I ever had the pleasure of finding... everything from carnie food to soul food to soups, salads and deserts.

When I was in Orlando, I ate at the ol' Sizzler three times in one week. :D People were joking at me when I told them that. "Yep, you're an Okie" they said. They were all wanting to go to places liek TGI Friday's or Tony Roma's, I wanted me some AYCE!!!

[yermom]

i remember driving by a few of those in the last few years and thinking "oh, THAT's what they were talking about"

[silverwheels]

When I was in Orlando, I ate at the ol' Sizzler three times in one week. :D People were joking at me when I told them that. "Yep, you're an Okie" they said. They were all wanting to go to places liek TGI Friday's or Tony Roma's, I wanted me some AYCE!!!

That says a lot about them and their taste in food, as well.

[SicEmBaylor]

I think anyone who braves eating at a buffet deserves special recognition. I absolutely will not eat from a buffet, you're taking your life in your hands.

[yermom]

i agree with SicEm on something else :eek:

[SicEmBaylor]

i agree with SicEm on something else :eek:
We're like brothers with different mothers.

[Czar Soonerov]

:les:SHUT UP RANDY!

[Rogue]

A few weeks back I set a personal best record at a Chinese buffet. 5 plates. If I ever get huge and finally get that food critic job my ratings will be based on plates or "refills." 5 plates would be the best.

I still laugh sometimes at "the move." The whole thing was gold, but that may have been a little crunchy diamond hidden in there.

[olevetonahill]

I think anyone who braves eating at a buffet deserves special recognition. I absolutely will not eat from a buffet, you're taking your life in your hands.
This from the kid who is pineing away about sicemex ?
Dude if that broad aint been a buffet for halve the town , :eek:
never mind you to far gone !

[yermom]

"The Buffet"

man, that would a cold thing to call a girl...

[SoonerAtKU]

The "All You Shouldn't Eat" Buffet

[OU4LIFE]

I think anyone who braves eating at a buffet deserves special recognition. I absolutely will not eat from a buffet, you're taking your life in your hands.

You and yermom should NEVER go to Vegas.

The Cravings buffet is second to none.....but you guys wouldn't know that.

[yermom]

it's not that i haven't eaten at buffets, just really don't care to

i wasn't impressed with the buffets i got dragged to in Vegas

the one at Ameristar in KC was better

[OU4LIFE]

You obviously didn't go to Cravings at the Mirage.

wanker.

[Petro-Sooner]

Is there a Ryan's in the Norman/OKC area. I dont think I remember ever seeing one. Or at least if I have seen one I didnt realize the reputation it has.

[I_SMELL_FEAR]

I dont do Sirloin Stockade, Ryans etc...

Last time I went to Sirloin Stockade, I go to the restroom to wash up before eating, this guy walks in, plate in hand, sets it on the top of the urinal and does his business. I go out, get a few things...look over to my right and there the bathroom guy is with his plate, banging out mashed potatos on to it. I didnt even eat after that.

Thats not as bad as the booger on the plate story...

[VeeJay]

I didn't want to eat at Ryan's the other night. I forced down some butter beans, a piece of chicken and some 'nanner pudding.

[Chuck Bao]

My colleagues are taking me out to a buffet lunch on Friday to celebrate that I'll be gone to the US for the next couple of weeks. This buffet, though, is pretty good and needs to be booked about a month in advance. They've been planning this celebration for some time, I guess.

[yermom]

Is there a Ryan's in the Norman/OKC area. I dont think I remember ever seeing one. Or at least if I have seen one I didnt realize the reputation it has.

A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night, which means that macaroni and beef, was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Uncle Johnny would love it.

Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef was consumed that evening, I tell you - in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia was shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however I had not really been feeling well all day, what
with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without too much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be.

After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your Intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good ****, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my date telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a
pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a ****. I went to the normal stall.

In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my *** was reaching Biblical proportions.

I began "The Move."

I know you (and definitely Uncle Johnny) understand this (though women would not), but I'll take a moment to explain "The Move" anyway. Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones *** toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time.

It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of **** at the exact same second that ones *** is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the dick is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the **** stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over **** no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ***. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since ****ting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my *** exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of **** the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ***. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The **** wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the **** wave, though of considerable force,was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of **** remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

Now, back to the vomit...

While all the ****ting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.

In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in **** that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets liquid ****. All while thick **** was spread all over my *** in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my date to
come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had ****ed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my date came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to being the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask
for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage or just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions.

He hooked up a hose.

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my date got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my date. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again,but managed to scurry out to the car where my date was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

(oh c'mon you knew it was coming)

[OU4LIFE]

heh..I was waiting for it.

[Xstnlsooner]

rofl!!

What a classic post!

[DalHorn]

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/39090