The day after Thanksgiving, we have a belated holiday feast at Captain George’s Seafood Restaurant, an "everybody knows it" institution that attracts tourists and locals alike. A huge neon sign guides us to the sprawling restaurant on Laskin Road. With that blinding efficiency that’s the hallmark of good buffet restaurants, we are whisked to a table as soon as we step inside.

The restaurant’s interior resembles a vast but cozy ship, one that Tiffany, had he been a shipwright rather than a jeweler, might have built. Stained and etched glass is everywhere, with the reflections of thousands of holiday twinkle lights adding a festive air. There are some goofy touches, too, like the impossibly mauve octopus sculpture atop the enormous salad bar, all tentacles and grin. Lots of zaftig mermaids, shiny bronze ship ornaments, ship wheels, and, well, you know how these seafood places are. It’s best just to submit to the silly nautical fantasy and have a good time.

Now, some buffets are badly designed. People collide into each other, end up standing in line for the most prized items, or, worst of all, have to go down one main line to get anything. Captain George’s breaks up the serving areas, which is good, but there are some traffic flow issues. While eating, we hear the resulting clash of dropped plates and silverware.

However, I’d give them a B+ or maybe even A- for variety and quality of food. How do you like your seafood? Cold, hot, raw, fried, baked, steamed, casseroled, stir-fried, breaded, or on the half shell? They’ve got it. The side items, the usual round of vegetables, breads, soups, and salads, merely cover the flanks of the seafood army, with its batteries of clams casino, regiments of stuffed flounder, battalion of snow crab legs, and platoons of pink salmon. A true glutton, on these occasions, feels slightly giddy contemplating all this, but summons her courage and enters the fray.

As a veteran of the smorgasbord wars, I have a finely-honed battle plan, taking a mere teaspoon of anything appealing-looking on the first pass, then renewing my attack after this elimination round. The only dish that’s an out-and-out failure is a gooey mess called the "Norfolk Special." Poor Norfolk! Our son maintains an unflagging assault on the crab legs, while my husband and I, after narrowing our focus, execute a pincer maneuver on the scallops, crab imperial, and shrimp in all its guises.

Service is efficient and no-nonsense, as the busy staff easily keeps pace with our onslaught. "You finished with this?" Whisk! Some two hours later we emerge, having fought the battle of the bulge, and um…lost.