Bishop's Buffet It Was There, And Then It Wasn't

 

As a kid, you wanted McDonald’s. Maybe Henry’s. That felt like a win—bright, loud, fast, and fun. Instead, you got dragged to Bishop’s.

Not that Bishop’s Buffet was bad. It just wasn’t cool. No Happy Meals. No noise. No reason for a kid to get excited. It was where your parents and grandparents went.

You’d walk in already annoyed.

Then the smell hit you. Roast beef, fried chicken, rolls, gravy, something sweet in the background. That helped.

Bishop’s started in the early 1920s in Des Moines. The first one was a cafeteria—grab a tray, move down the line, point at what you want, sit down and eat. People liked it, so they opened more. Cedar Rapids. Davenport. Waterloo. Sioux City. Same deal every time. No surprises.

Somewhere along the way, it turned into a buffet. That’s when it got interesting. Now you weren’t just picking a meal—you were building one. And once you realized you could go back as many times as you wanted, the whole thing shifted.

By the ’50s and ’60s, Bishop’s was packed. Sundays were chaos. Lines moving slowly, trays sliding, people everywhere. You grabbed a tray and tried to act like you had a plan.

You didn’t.

You hit the salad bar first because it felt like you were supposed to. Lettuce, carrots, maybe some potato salad. Then you got to the real food.

Fried chicken. Roast beef in juice. Mashed potatoes with gravy. Meatloaf, green beans, corn, mac and cheese.

That’s where it fell apart.

You stopped pretending you were mad about being there and started loading your plate. That took a second to sink in. No one told you to slow down. No one said, “That’s enough.” You could take what you wanted, eat it, and go right back up like it was normal.

First plate, you played it safely. Second plate, you figured it out. By the third, you understand how this place really worked.

And then you noticed dessert. That’s where Bishop’s got it right.

Rows of pies. Apple, cherry, chocolate cream, lemon meringue. Cakes off to the side. Later on, some places had ice cream, but it almost didn’t matter. Because you didn’t have to choose.

You could take pie, finish it, go back for cake, then go back again because nobody was stopping you. That wasn’t how it worked anywhere else.

By the time you sat down, you weren’t thinking about McDonald’s anymore.

The whole place moved slower. People stayed. Nobody rushed out. Coffee kept getting refilled. Conversations dragged on longer than they needed to. You sat there until you were done, not until someone needed your table.

That was Bishop’s.

It wasn’t about getting people in and out. It was about letting them stay. And for a long time, that worked.

Through the ’60s and into the ’70s, it just kept going. Same food, same setup, same crowds. Then everything changed.

Fast food got bigger. Restaurants got quicker. New places came in that felt newer, faster, and easier. Sitting down for a long buffet felt wrong. Like you were wasting time.

Bishop’s tried to keep up. They changed a few things. Cleaned up the look. But it was still Bishop’s, and the world around it wasn’t the same anymore.

By the ’80s, locations started closing. Not all at once. One here, one there. Des Moines, Cedar Rapids, Davenport.

You didn’t think much about it at first. You just went less. Then, even less than. Until one day it wasn’t an option anymore.

And that was it. Bishop’s Buffet was gone.