Bill Wisth stands 6 feet 6 inches tall, weighs in at 350 pounds, and darn it, he'd like some more fried fish. WTMJ reports that his usual supply line was recently cut off when the managers of Chuck's Place restaurant in Thiensville, Wisconsin felt he'd enjoyed enough of their advertised all-you-can-eat Friday night fish fry after he availed himself of twelve pieces. Staffers, who had issues with Wisth throughout the years, informed their still-hungry customer that they were running short on the special and sent him on his way.

The additional eight pieces with which they dispatched him were not enough to drown out his cries of false advertising. Wisth phoned the police and showed up two days later with a protest sign protesting the restaurant's policies. He sees it as a case of a small fry against the big guy and plans to picket the restaurant every Sunday until they reconsider their policy. The restaurant, however, appears unwilling to work with Wisht - at least until he pays off the tab he's accrued over the past few years.

If this sounds like a familiar scenario, it's because The Simpsons already did it. In the show's 1992 episode "New Kid on the Block," Homer Simpson sued fictional seafood restaurant The Frying Dutchman after being ejected from the all-you-can-eat restaurant for consuming "All our shrimp! And two plastic lobsters!"

The restaurant eventually offered a settlement to which Homer agreed - eating at a window table while the restaurant owner barks to lookers-on, "Come for the freak; stay for the food."

But is it actually freakish to expect a restaurant to make good on their claim? Hungry diners descend upon no-limit establishments devoid of sticker-shock anticipation and ready to fill their bellies.

While strategies vary wildly - some skip the lower-margin starches like bread and potatoes and stick solely to the pricier (for the restaurant) proteins, others enjoy the opportunity to pick at this and that and still others take "all-you-can-eat" as a personal challenge - the end goal is the same: satisfaction for their hard-earned cash.

So we're asking for your take. In the comments below, weigh in on the topics: are "all-you-can-eat" specials and buffets a smart, wallet-sensible choice or just an excuse for gluttony, and what's your strategy for dealing with the endless stream of food? Stop when you're full or just one more little mint? It's wafer thin...

• Chef Sara Jenkins pleas for young American chefs to embrace their surroundings and quit trying to be so fancy! - The Atlantic

• You really aren't going to need a bigger boat with the world's first vegetarian shark. - Treehugger

• Drug-resistant bacteria. It's what's for dinner. - Self

• One man's quest to use every last scrap of every last vegetable he cooks. - Houston Press

• Mmm, tastes bitter with hints of feuding: Hatfield and McCoy family recipes. - Kentucky.com

Come out of your shell, mollusk lovers - May 16 is National Coquilles Saint Jacques Day!!

Scallops, shallots and mushrooms hang out on the half-shell and get a sumptuous bath of wine, possibly with a massive lashing of cream. Then they're topped with a little Gruyere and perhaps a dusting of breadcrumbs, broil and voila - exceptionally elegant supper is served.

St. James the Greater employed scallop shells as his emblem (legend has it that he saved a knight who'd fallen into the water and emerged covered in scallop shells), and devotees making pilgrimages to his shrine in Santiago de Compostela, Spain would pin them to their clothing in tribute.

There's no need to get your favorite duds all fishy, though. Julia Child in her classic "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" offered two different variations of the dish - à la Parisienne, wherein the scallops are poached in white wine, then blended into a butter, egg and cream sauce, and à la Provençale, wherein the scallops are floured and sautéed, then cooked in wine and herbs and topped with cheese.

Whether you're honoring Provence or Paris, this glorious gratinée is something of a showstopper. As chef and author Anthony Bourdain told Epicurious, "My mother made it for special occasions only. I remember being terrifically impressed that she served it in scallop shells. I yearned for this dish - knowing it only by smells - and was delighted when I finally turned old enough to sit down to eat with the adults. This was the reward."

We are utterly thrilled when readers want to hang out and talk – whether it's amongst themselves or in response to pieces we've posted. We want Eatocracy to be a cozy, spirited online home for those who find their way here.

Consider the daily Coffee Klatsch post as your VIP lounge – the primary comments thread for readers who'd like to chat about topics not related to the articles we're running. That way, everyone knows where to find each other, and each post's comments section remains on topic.

Debate continues over the methodology behind foie gras - a creamy delicacy created by deliberately overfeeding ducks or geese to enlarge their livers. A ban on food products that are made as a result of force-feeding animals goes into effect in California on July 1, but some chefs are protesting. Eatocracy's Sarah LeTrent spoke with CNNI's Pauline Chiou about the controversy surrounding the practice.

Previously - Foie gras laws causing a flap with California chefs

Hey y’all, it’s Vidalia onion time. And that is big time. What other onion has its own museum, state and federal law of protection, festival, YouTube channel, website, Facebook page and Twitter account?

The Vidalia actually started as a fluke as farmers in the Depression tried different crops. In a small section of Georgia with the right soil contents, an onion grew that wasn’t hot but very sweet. Folks flipped over them and soon word of those sweet onions from Georgia got out.

Another factor in the rise in popularity of the Vidalia was “The Pig.” The Piggly Wiggly grocery chain was headquartered in, where else, but Vidalia, Georgia. So began the onions' ascent to regional, national and eventual international fame.

In the mid-1980s, farmers united to seek both state and federal protection of the growing region, meaning the growing area was defined to 20 middle Georgia counties. Only onions grown there can be legally called Vidalias. If your Vidalia doesn’t say it’s from Vidalia, you’ve got yourself an imposter. And an imposter Vidalia is enough to give this Georgia girl the vapors. So take a little time and treat yourself to "America’s favorite sweet onion" - the Vidalia!

In late October of last year, I underwent open heart surgery. There was no warning, no history of disease, no serious abuse that led the inner lining of my ascending aorta to tear. Sometimes things just break.

While attending a signing for the Eleven Madison Park Cookbook, I began experiencing chest pain. As I think anyone else my age (early 40s) would feel in that moment, I was in complete disbelief. I was both embarrassed that I might pass out and concerned that whatever I was experiencing might keep me from celebrating my colleagues’ big moment. After a quick exit, I returned to Gramercy Tavern. I knew something was seriously wrong.

I was rushed to Beth Israel Hospital. Within a few hours of arriving, it was determined that I needed emergency open heart surgery. There was very little time to spend with my wife, no chance to see my children and no second option. Strange how a lifetime is ultimately translated into only minutes - clarified, distilled, precise and yet unfair.

There was just enough time to gather what was wrong with my heart and who was sent to fix it: Dr. Charles Geller. In times like this we can feel thankful for competent, well-trained, extremely disciplined professionals like him. Yet what I was most struck with was his warm and confident smile.

Maybe because I was introduced to him while lying on my back, it seemed clear by his build that Dr. Geller was no stranger to the pleasures of the table. He asked me about my profession and seemed to shudder with excitement when I told him about being a chef. He allowed me, despite the intensity of the moment, to believe that he was on my side. He explained calmly what we were about to experience together. In an instant, I became indebted to him forever.

I woke up a day later with many questions swirling through my head. The immediacy of the surgery hadn’t allowed me to contemplate what this might mean for my career as a chef. There had been more pressing issues at hand. Now that I had made it through and was starting to wrap my head around what happened, I wondered if my body, the body that had just betrayed me, would recover enough to allow me to return to the kitchen.

I also wondered why this had happened to me. Why now? I have always felt proud of my diet and the health-conscious cooking that we serve at the restaurant. I lead a balanced lifestyle, but wondered if this condition was at all related to my being a chef. While some of my larger questions have remained unanswered, I have since been told by a number of doctors that it does not seem likely that my diet or lifestyle had much of an effect on my condition.

What I did learn from this experience was what I took away from the hospital staff, who left me feeling the same as Dr. Geller did, which was deeply cared for. The optimism and warmth I received from them was overwhelming and powerful. Of course, these folks were carefully trained to perform the technical aspects of their jobs, but what stood out to me was how they listened to me and responded with thoughtful and gracious gestures. They rose above the call of duty to be encouraging, which stiffened my resolve to bounce back.

When I returned home from the hospital, I didn’t know where to start. Would I have a different outlook on life? On cooking? How would this experience change me? Eventually, I realized that at the core of this powerful exchange was hospitality - the very same force that distinguishes what we do every day at Gramercy Tavern. It is all of the caring things the staff did to make me feel they were genuinely on my side that I will remember long after the memory of the names of the drugs and the details of my surgery fade.

After my surgery and homecoming, the gestures of encouragement poured in: get well cards, concerned emails, thoughtfully chosen books and poems, inspirational movies and carefully packed handmade food. I appreciated everyone who reached out during this time, but it dawned on me that the cooks had a special ability to connect and communicate by the food they shared. Some simply nourished and others dazzled but everyone told a story.

With the help of these restaurant folk and their deliveries, I eased my way back in to being myself again by tasting each expression: barley and basil brought solidarity in tough times, kale and beet salad reconnected me with the garden, chicken fricassee invoked nostalgia, parsnip soup acted like a familiar handshake, poached lemon char sparked dreams, chocolate chip cookies felt just like a pat on the back.

Each bite made me feel a profound sense of thanks to those who lent a hand or a meal when I needed it most. Through the careful choices and deliberate styles, informal gestures and intricate work, whether immediately consumed or painstakingly preserved, we communicate so much with those who are at the receiving end of a thoughtful meal.

Their gestures pushed me to develop enough strength to return to the kitchen to reenter this dialogue, and this generosity of spirit made me feel unbelievably proud to belong to the restaurant industry. While we work day in and day out to provide for our guests, my experience reminded me why taking care of each other comes first.

Previously - Serving up gratitude in troubled times

What have food-based gestures of kindness in troubled times mean to you? We'd love to hear your story in the comments below.

• We bet you never sausage a quiz. - Guardian

• You'll be in hog heaven with this oven-baked pork butt. - Wall Street Journal

• You are now free to drink in the cabin: The best airlines for tippling. - Food Republic

• What do you get when former New York Times restaurant critic Mimi Sheraton sits down to watch the Food Network? A lot of priceless criticism.  - Grub Street

• Sniffing out the biggest wine hoax in history. - New York Magazine

Chips ahoy! May 15 is National Chocolate Chip Day.

Whether you toss them in brownies, pancakes, muffins or cookies or just scarf them by the handful straight from the bag, these tiny teardrop-shaped morsels will melt away your Tuesday troubles.

If you opt to celebrate today's holiday with the quintessential cookie recipe, try out this scrumptious version from iReporter Cynthia Falardeau's grandmother.

"[My grandma] taught me that any adversity could be overcome by the simple gift of a cookie," Falardeau said.

Grandma Carr's Chocolate Chip Cookies
3 cups of all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon of baking soda
1 teaspoon of salt
2 sticks of sweet cream butter
3/4 cup of firmly packed brown sugar
3/4 cup of granular sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons of real vanilla extract
1 bag of jumbo semi-sweet chocolate chips or chunks
1 cup of nuts, M&M’s, coconut or Heath chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine flour, soda and salt; set aside. Combine the rest of the ingredients and mix well. Mix dry and wet ingredients together. Drop by rounded spoonfuls onto ungreased baking sheet. Bake for 10 minute until lightly brown. Cool for one minute on baking sheet and then remove to wire racks to cool completely.

We are utterly thrilled when readers want to hang out and talk – whether it's amongst themselves or in response to pieces we've posted. We want Eatocracy to be a cozy, spirited online home for those who find their way here.

Consider the daily Coffee Klatsch post as your VIP lounge – the primary comments thread for readers who'd like to chat about topics not related to the articles we're running. That way, everyone knows where to find each other, and each post's comments section remains on topic.