17 Ways Tourists Ate At Vegas Buffets In The ’70s That Feel Wild Now
Neon glowed off mirrored walls. The smell of carving stations and melting butter filled casino halls. Buffets in Vegas then were rituals of excess, extravagance, audacity. Tourists lined up believing in endless plates of steak, shrimp, gelatin sculpted like alien flora.
The rules were unspoken, the appetite brave. What follows are seventeen snapshots of buffet life in that era: practices that now feel shockingly free, wildly extravagant, borderline reckless.
Each memory flickers with flavor, price oddity, guest astonishment, proof that Vegas dining once swung through a different orbit.
1. Flat-Fee, True All-You-Can-Eat With No Time Limit
Imagine entering a mirrored hall where the cashier took your coins, handed you a tray, and simply waved you in, no questions, no timer, no worries.
For one set fee, diners could return to the buffet line over and over again, plates wobbling under piles of food. Nobody rushed you, and nobody cared if you sat there for hours.
Some tourists turned it into a full afternoon ritual, nibbling between slot rounds, sipping coffee, then returning for another round of ham and ambrosia.
2. Champagne Brunches Where The Bubbles Were Bottomless
Morning light flickered through stained glass while tuxedoed servers poured champagne as if it came from a hose behind the wall.
This wasn’t some tight-poured mimosa situation, your glass never sat empty. Brunch dishes ranged from creamed eggs to crab legs, laid out beside fruit platters and delicate pastries.
People clinked glasses at 10 a.m. like it was their wedding, anniversary, and lucky streak all at once. The vibe was brunch-meets-cabaret, with just enough citrus to pretend it was breakfast.
3. Graveyard Specials After Midnight Priced For Pocket Change
Neon buzzed, carpet smelled faintly of cigarettes, and the undead, by which I mean gamblers and tourists, drifted toward the buffet at 2 a.m.
For a couple bucks, you got eggs, a strip steak, maybe pancakes or hash browns, and a mug of coffee that tasted like last week’s winnings.
These specials existed for people who’d lost track of time and money. The food wasn’t fancy, but it was warm, salty, and blessedly cheap, which made it sacred in its own way.
4. Pit-Boss Paper Comps That Whisked Players Past The Line
You didn’t have to win big, just play long enough and look tired. That’s when the pit boss slipped you a folded piece of magic.
These comps, small paper vouchers, acted like golden tickets, letting you skip the snaking buffet line and head straight to the trays. No questions asked.
People clutched them like relics. Some bragged, some acted casual, but everyone knew: if you had one, you’d gambled enough to earn steak without the wait.
5. Piles Of Prime Rib From All-Day Carving Stations
One of the highlights of Vegas buffets in the ’70s was the all-day prime rib carving station. Juices pooled under the cutting board, pink flesh glistening beneath warm lamps as the carving chef worked his blade.
Prime rib was a daylong attraction. Whether you came at 11 a.m. or 4 p.m., the beef kept flowing, sliced to order.
Patrons hovered like vultures waiting for the perfect slice. They didn’t just want meat. They wanted spectacle. A moment of performance before sinking their teeth into buttery, tender excess.
6. 99-Cent Shrimp Cocktails As Add-Ons Or Buffet Bait
Tall glasses cradled three curled shrimp, tails hanging like a fancy garnish, resting atop a pool of bright cocktail sauce.
You could add one for under a buck, or snag it solo as a cheap thrill before blackjack. Either way, the pricing was part of the lure.
Some tourists swore they didn’t even like shrimp—they just couldn’t resist the idea of Vegas seafood for ninety-nine cents. It wasn’t a snack. It was a dare.
7. Smoking At The Tables And Sometimes In The Buffet Line
Ashtrays clinked against formica. Cigarettes dangled from lips as folks leaned over lasagna and pork roast like it was perfectly normal.
You could light up while holding tongs, balancing your plate in one hand, Marlboro in the other. Smoke mingled with steam from carving stations.
Nobody flinched. Staff wiped tables between ashes and crumbs. It was Vegas, after all, a buffet wasn’t sacred ground, it was just another room where smoke and appetite danced together.
8. Kids Eating Free Or For A Token Price On Weeknights
Come Tuesday night, families rolled in like caravans. Hungry kids, sticky fingers, and zero judgment filled the booths by 5 p.m.
Buffets let children under ten eat free or nearly so, sometimes for a nickel, sometimes with a paying adult, sometimes just because.
It made Vegas strangely wholesome for a sliver of the evening. Parents piled plates with mac and cheese and Jell‑O, whispering thanks to whoever decided gluttony and childcare could collide affordably.
9. Coupon-Book Deals Clipped From Newspapers And Handed To The Cashier
Travelers packed scissors alongside socks. Sunday coupons were gold: pages of “Buy One, Get One” buffet offers folded into wallets.
At the entrance, tourists produced wrinkled rectangles torn from local newspapers, smiling like they’d beaten the system. Cashiers rarely blinked.
You didn’t need apps, barcodes, or blackout dates. Just a piece of paper and decent timing. Some regulars had binders, flipping tabs to find the cheapest feast on the Strip.
10. Cafeteria Trays Stacked High For Repeat Trips Without Fuss
Forget dainty. Guests pushed metal trays with the reckless confidence of airport baggage handlers. Stack one, stack five, nobody blinked.
Plates balanced precariously. Roast beef slid into coleslaw. Butter rolls tumbled across baked ziti. It was chaos, but it worked.
There were no limits. You didn’t have to finish a plate before going back. The motto seemed to be: if your tray isn’t groaning, are you even trying?
11. Minimal Sneeze-Guards And Shared Tongs That Would Never Fly Now
One long buffet table. Fifty hands. One set of tongs, sometimes wet, often warm. Hygiene was more of a concept than a practice.
Plastic shields, if present at all, were half the size of modern sneeze-guards and positioned just above the macaroni.
People leaned in, breathed freely, and grabbed with confidence. Nobody wiped anything. Looking back, it feels like a petri dish in sequins, but in the moment, it was just dinner.
12. Mountains Of Gelatin Molds, Ambrosia, And Whipped-Cream Desserts
Dessert tables looked like alien landscapes. Towers of jiggling Jell‑O caught light like stained glass. Nothing wobbled quite the same way.
Ambrosia salad oozed from metal bowls, studded with fruit cocktail and marshmallows. Cans were opened, stirred, chilled, and crowned with Cool Whip.
Kids dove in headfirst. Grownups took polite scoops that turned into second rounds. It was a sugary fever dream, pastel and unapologetic.
13. Self-Serve Coffee And Milk With Pitchers Left On Tables
Each table came equipped like a roadside diner: metal pitchers of milk, carafes of black coffee, maybe some sugar cubes in a foggy bowl.
There was no waiting for a refill. You reached, poured, stirred. Occasionally spilled. It felt informal, like someone trusted you with the house keys.
Caffeine came without ceremony. Tourists chugged cups between buffet rounds. If the coffee was burnt or lukewarm, no one mentioned it, they just drank faster.
14. Surf-And-Turf Nights At Weekday Prices
Steak and lobster didn’t require reservations or fine linens. They just appeared on Tuesdays next to mashed potatoes and green beans.
One tray might carry a charbroiled sirloin and a tail of spiny lobster, both under warming lights like royalty in a cafeteria.
The price? Often under $10. Patrons returned wide-eyed, dragging their friends, whispering: “Go tonight. They’ve got the good stuff.” It felt like cheating luxury.
15. Lines Snaking Through Casinos Considered Part Of The Fun
You’d start in the casino, somewhere between slots and keno, and gradually inch toward the scent of garlic bread and gravy.
The line wasn’t a burden. It was foreplay. You saw showgirls on break, grandmas in visors, toddlers with sticky hands and soda cups.
Everyone bonded over wait times. By the time you reached the trays, you’d earned that fried chicken. You had survived the procession.
16. Show-And-Supper Tie-Ins That Turned The Buffet Into Pre-Theater
Dinner didn’t end the night. It launched it. Buffets timed to coincide with 7 p.m. curtain calls for topless revues and magic acts.
Packages bundled carving stations with velvet seats. Eat your shrimp cocktail, then go see a tiger vanish.
Staff sometimes made announcements: “Folks headed to the 8 o’clock Folies Bergère, please finish desserts now.” Buffets became backstage, diners part of the choreography.
17. Tableside Flambé Or Carving Flourishes At “Deluxe” Spreads
Some buffets, the fancier ones, treated dinner like stagecraft. Flames bloomed in silver pans, casting flickers on polyester blazers.
Bananas Foster erupted in orange-blue glory. Carvers wheeled carts to your booth, slicing tenderloin while narrating like showmen.
It was theater you could eat. Gasps were common. Guests leaned back as fire licked the air. A bite later, sugar and rum still tingled on the tongue.