The sign read: "ALL YOU CAN EAT — $14.99." All. I. Can. Eat. This was not a price. It was a challenge, laid before me by the house itself. They had declared, in writing, that their generosity had no limit. Honor demanded that I test the truth of this claim. A young man handed me a single plate. "Just the one plate — but you can come back as many times as you want!" One plate. Reused, again and again. A brilliant and ancient strategy: limit the vessel, never the supply. I saw the trap, and I respected it. I took my plate as a soldier takes his only sword. I will describe the battlefield, for an honest account requires it. A long table stood beneath a shield of clear glass — a "sneeze guard," I was told. A barrier of great honor, protecting the food from the breath of warriors. A machine produced ice cream from the pull of a lever. Endlessly. Asking nothing. I pulled the lever. It gave. I pulled again. It gave again. It would never stop giving. I understood then that I could not win. But a warrior does not eat to win. He eats to honor. I made nine campaigns to the long table. Nine. On the fifth, they brought out fresh crab. The supply lines of this nation defy imagination. On the seventh, my friend looked at me with real concern: "Dude. You don't have to eat ALL of it. That's not how this works." But it IS how it works. The house offered all. To leave any is to call their generosity a lie. By the ninth plate, I had not been hungry since the fourth. I ate the way a soldier marches the final mile — not for himself, but for what is right. I will be honest about my condition. I was a ruined man. I could no longer feel my honor. I could only feel the crab. …I had paid fourteen dollars and ninety-nine cents. To eat until I was in physical pain. I am aware of how this sounds. The young man passed my table and smiled warmly: "You doing okay over there?" I gave a small nod. I could not speak. I was not okay. But I was honored. I have returned every week since. The soft-serve machine and I have reached an understanding. I no longer attempt all nine campaigns. I have matured. Six. Seven at the most. …Last week I made eleven. A fresh crab tray comes out at 7 o'clock. A man must be there when the crab arrives.