SOUTHERN EXPOSURE: SALVATION AND TEMPTATION: SERVINGS OF THE SALAD BAR

Man I love pay week.

It's not because I suddenly have money; that is a fleeting thing with me. In no time what once was a positive balance in my checking account will decay to a negative and I'll have to sweat out the last couple of days until my check arrives and the whole illusion begins again.

No, I realize I don't actually have money when I get paid. I only have the ability to cover my immediate bills.

What I like about pay week is the food.

For a hedonistic four or five days I get to indulge in the four advanced food groups -- Cajun, Mexican, Italian and buffet. Man was not made to live by Ramen Noodles alone.

The human animal was put on this earth to do two things -- reproduce and snack.

This is the week where my every good intention is overridden by the voice of slanted reason. I'll accompany my co-workers to a restaurant, saying to myself the whole time, "Be careful, order frugally." Then the all-you-can-eat lard and butter buffet oozes off the menu and finds its way to the waitress' order pad.

Of course those buffets usually have the token salad bar where the hardy and strong of will can construct their own healthy dining experience. I'm drawn to this area, it represents the very essence of hell.

There, glistening wet and cold under the protective plastic sneeze-shield, is the textured bowl of an unidentifiable color piled with lettuce in varying stages of decay. Beside it will be the cucumber slices, their centers turning pickle-ish after hours of marinating in water and their own juices. Tomato wedges, now little more than wedge skins, their unformed and gooey meats long separated from the firm exteriors.

Let's not even talk about the mushrooms.

But there it is, health, responsibility, moderation, care all laid out with pincers near at hand.

Not four paces away is temptation, gluttony, extreme and probably envy, sloth and adultery thrown in there somewhere as well. The sliced meats simmering in pools of grease, fried chicken, fried fish, mashed potatoes, even the boiled potatoes -- usually as pure and docile of a tuber as can be prepared by human hands -- nestled comfortably in a jacuzzi of boiling butter.

All the turmoils of the world merged into a swirling array of vices and contradictions, sights and scents -- I have known purgatory and buffet be thy name.

As in most things in life, I strive for balance when making food selections. But I must admit that faced with such overwhelming disparity between choices I can only say one thing as I'm piling my plate high with potatoes, meats, gravy and cheeses -- the devil made me do it.

But of course, the balance comes later as the money dwindles away and the noodles, rices and cold cuts dominate my menu. Then I can only look back on the salad (bar) days, if you will, with churning stomach and anticipation.

~David Angier is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.