Dining At This All You Can Eat Buffet In Oregon Feels Almost Too Fun
I realized this buffet was different the moment my instincts kicked in, not to grab a plate immediately, but to walk a full lap and take everything in.
Stations stretched out like attractions, each one promising something entirely different, and the energy felt closer to exploration than routine dining.
Somewhere off the highway near 13500 SW Pacific Hwy #17 in Tigard, Oregon, Mizumi Buffet quietly operates like a playground designed for people who love choice.
Instead of feeling overwhelmed, I felt oddly focused, mentally mapping out first bites, second rounds, and the inevitable return to favorites.
Steam rose, sauces gleamed, and the sounds of plates and conversation blended into a background hum that made lingering feel natural.
Every section invited curiosity, whether it was something familiar done well or a dish I had not planned on trying at all.
I noticed other diners moving the same way, circling back, comparing notes, smiling at the freedom of not having to choose just one thing.
Time stretched because there was no pressure to rush, no single star dish demanding attention over the rest. The experience felt playful, generous, and surprisingly relaxed for a buffet.
1. Sushi Boats And First Bites

Walking into Mizumi Buffet, I felt that buzz you only get when a meal might turn into a story. The sushi station was my first stop, a parade of glistening nigiri and rolls arranged like jewels on chilled boats. I grabbed salmon nigiri, a crunchy tempura roll, and a little mound of pickled ginger, letting the wasabi wake up my senses.
The fish tasted fresh, the rice had that gentle stick, and the knife work looked confident. I watched a chef torch a slice of salmon, a quick blaze that caramelized the edges without ruining the silkiness. A nearby plate of seaweed salad added a bright, sesame pop that cleared the palate between bites.
Curiosity nudged me to sample the specialty rolls labeled Mizumi Signature. One was layered with avocado and drizzled with a sweet soy glaze that hit the line between playful and balanced. Another combined spicy tuna with cucumber for crunch and a finishing sprinkle of tobiko that snapped like tiny fireworks.
Between plates, I noticed how people lingered at the display, debating their next selection with grins. It felt casual and fun, but there was precision behind it. The turnover stayed brisk, which kept everything looking and tasting lively, and that matters at a buffet.
I paired the sushi with miso soup, steam curling up, tofu cubes bobbing like little boats. The broth was savory and mild, exactly right for pacing myself. I could have stayed here all night sampling combinations, but the hibachi sizzle in the distance called me forward.
2. Hibachi Theater On A Plate

The hibachi counter pulled me in with that irresistible sizzle. A cook flipped shrimp with a quick wrist and nudged steak slices toward the hot zone, each piece picking up a char-kissed edge. I built my plate like a kid at a carnival, choosing broccoli, onions, zucchini, and a scoop of noodles for good measure.
The sauce choices looked simple, but they had personality. Garlic butter melted into the shrimp, giving it sweetness and depth, while a soy blend clung to the noodles. Every toss on the grill turned the ingredients glossy and fragrant, and I could feel the warmth on my face.
I loved the rhythm of the station. No long wait, just constant motion and attentive timing. The steak came medium with blush in the center, and the vegetables kept their snap, not soggy or overwhelmed by sauce.
Between bites, I alternated with sips of water to reset and catch the smoky aroma in the air. It felt like dinner and a show, minus the fuss. Portions stayed flexible, so I did small rounds to keep exploring.
Before leaving, I asked for a quick extra toss of noodles with a touch more garlic. The cook smiled and obliged, and that little customization made the plate feel personal. If you want the fun of hibachi without a long sit down, this station hits the sweet spot.
3. Dim Sum Detour

I veered into dim sum territory because the steamers were whispering promises. Shumai sat plump and tidy, while translucent shrimp dumplings gleamed under the lights. I snagged a fluffy barbecue pork bun, its top smooth like a cloud, and lined everything up for a little tasting flight.
The shumai had a springy texture and savory punch. A dab of chili oil and a splash of soy transformed it into something louder and more cheerful. The shrimp dumplings tasted delicate, the wrapper tender enough to yield without tearing, and the filling sweet and briny.
The pork bun surprised me with balance. The filling leaned slightly sweet but not cloying, and the dough stayed soft rather than gummy. Breaking it open released a fragrant puff that made me pause and smile.
I added scallion pancakes from a nearby tray, crisp at the edges with layered chew. They made a nice bridge between the dumplings and my next bite. A little vinegar and chili lifted the richness and kept me moving forward.
This detour felt like a calm lane amid the bustle, a place to reset texture and tempo. I liked that the trays were refreshed often, which kept the wrappers from drying out. If you appreciate gentle flavors and comforting bites, this corner delivers a quiet win.
4. Seafood Splash Night

Seafood at this Oregon place has a way of turning a plate into an ocean sampler. I started with chilled shrimp, bright and snappy, then scooped mussels steamed in a light broth. Lemon wedges and cocktail sauce waited like reliable sidekicks, ready to sharpen each bite.
The shrimp tasted clean and substantial, not watery. A quick dip in sauce gave it a tangy kick, and the lemon lifted everything with sunshine. The mussels were tender, their liquor lightly briny and soothing between bolder flavors elsewhere in the buffet.
I noticed rotating options on different visits, sometimes baked salmon, sometimes buttery white fish. When the salmon appears, it flakes easily and keeps its moisture, a good sign the kitchen watches the clock. Pair it with a spoon of rice and you have a simple, satisfying anchor.
The crab legs, when offered, spark a little frenzy. I cracked a few and found sweet meat that did not need much more than patience and a napkin. It is a small, joyful ritual that slows you down in the best way.
To balance the richness, I grabbed cucumber salad and seaweed salad for brightness. The contrast kept me hungry for the next taste without feeling heavy. If seafood is your playground, Mizumi gives you enough variety to build a fun, seaworthy plate.
5. Wok Classics With A Twist

The wok section is where comfort lives. I built a trio plate with broccoli beef, General Tso s chicken, and lo mein, letting the sauces mingle a bit at the edges. The aroma promised sweet, savory, and peppery notes all at once.
The broccoli beef carried gentle char and a pleasant chew. The sauce leaned savory with a light ginger roundness that kept it from being flat. Meanwhile, the lo mein played backup, noodles soaking up flavor without turning limp.
General Tso s chicken gave me that crispy outside I wanted. The glaze was sticky and playful, more tang than burn, with a hint of chili tickle at the finish. I tossed in a few bell peppers for fresh crunch between bites.
What impressed me most was turnover. Trays moved fast, so textures stayed lively. That mattered for the chicken, which kept its structure and did not collapse into syrup.
For a side, I added fried rice and a spoon of sautéed greens. The rice had distinct grains and a light eggy richness, an easy foundation for saucy bites. If you crave the greatest hits of Chinese American comfort, this lineup hits the spot without weighing you down too soon.
6. Katsu, Tempura, And Crunch

Some nights, I chase crunch, and Mizumi delivers. Chicken katsu arrived in neat slices with a golden coat that crackled just enough. I spooned over katsu sauce, tangy and slightly sweet, then added shrimp tempura and a few vegetable pieces for contrast.
The katsu stayed juicy inside, a good sign the oil was hot and the timing right. The tempura had a feathery batter, more whisper than armor, which let the shrimp shine. Zucchini and sweet potato gave gentle sweetness that played nicely with the dipping sauce.
I kept the plate simple to honor the textures. A wedge of lemon brought brightness that woke everything up without getting in the way. Between bites, I reached for water to keep my palate ready for the next crunch.
There is a timing dance here. Fresh batches appeared often, and I learned to circle back when a new tray landed, steam rising like a signal. Catching tempura at that moment makes a big difference in lightness.
To round out the plate, I grabbed a little cabbage slaw from the salad bar. It cut through the richness and set me up for more adventures. If your inner child loves crispy edges and dipping sauce, this corner of the buffet will make you grin.
7. Salad Bar Reset

When a buffet turns into a marathon, the salad bar becomes strategy. I built a greens base, then added cucumber coins, cherry tomatoes, and a spoonful of seaweed salad for umami. A light drizzle of sesame dressing kept things lively without stealing the show.
The greens were crisp, not tired, which gave me confidence to keep exploring. I liked the contrast of cool vegetables against warm, saucy dishes. Seaweed salad tucked a briny echo into the mix and refreshed my appetite in seconds.
There are little surprises if you look. Sometimes there is fruit nearby, like fresh orange slices or melon, and a few bites reset your palate fast. I also spotted simple pickles that quietly brighten heavier plates.
I do not overcomplicate this stop. One small bowl between two rich rounds creates balance and keeps the pace relaxed. It is the secret sauce to making an all you can eat experience feel graceful.
With a fresh reset, I could head back for sushi or hot dishes without fatigue. It is a rhythm you feel after the first pass. If you want to keep the fun going, use the salad bar as a reset button and your taste buds will thank you.
8. Dessert Carousel Of Joy

Dessert at Mizumi feels like the last level of an arcade. I went straight for soft serve, twisting vanilla into a tall swirl and showering it with rainbow sprinkles. The texture landed creamy and light, a simple pleasure that never fails.
Next, I sampled bite size cakes. A chocolate square offered a fudgy pop, while a fruit topped piece leaned bright and airy. They are small enough to try a few without surrendering your evening to sugar.
Mochi ice cream is a quiet star when it appears. The chewy shell gives way to cool sweetness, and the portion size is perfect for sharing or hoarding. I paired it with slices of fresh fruit to keep the finish clean.
Across the station, I spotted a chocolate fountain on past visits, turning strawberries into little celebrations. It is playful, a final wink before the night ends. If it is flowing, grab a skewer and join the line.
I closed with a cup of hot tea to bring everything back to earth. The gentle warmth smoothed the edges and let the flavors settle. Dessert here is not about one grand finale, but a dozen tiny wins that add up to joy.
9. Tips For Peak Fun

Here is how I make Mizumi feel almost too fun. Arrive early dinner or a bit before peak on weekends to catch the freshest turnovers. Start small and often, letting your plate become a tour instead of a mountain.
Circle the room first and note what looks newly set. Fresh tempura and hibachi right off the grill are worth a quick wait. Sushi tends to shine when the boats move quickly, so timing helps.
Hydrate between rounds to keep your palate happy. A salad or fruit break resets your senses and keeps the evening light. Save dessert for last, but peek early to plan your personal finale.
If you have a group, trade notes like treasure hunters. Share bites, swap favorites, and build a map of the night. It turns dinner into a little team adventure.
Most of all, listen to your own pace. The buffet is a playground, not a race. With a curious mood and a few smart loops, Mizumi becomes an experience you will want to revisit.
