Dining hall caters to Eli iron chefs’ needs
The Berkeley ’09er across from me sullenly pokes at her charred chicken, scooting it beneath piles of rice, cottage cheese and half-macerated beets like a smoker indifferently toeing a smoldering butt beneath a layer of beach sand. It is not unusual for interactions with dining-hall fare to take on this tinge of food-related depression or, worse, apathy.
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Nice article!
For those who get dining hall depression now, shut up you whiny little... Now for a classic tedious "in my day" Old Blue story. In my day (don't say I didn't warn you) you might shuffle in cold gray and ennervated on a bleak February to be confronted by the steam obscuring the "food" being ladled out by grim dining hall workers. But no matter, for there was only one entree (and no luxuries like sandwich makings etc.) This one entree was on the lines of sauerbraten, gray to go with the general atmosphere or seafood thermidor, tepid slop with the seafood apparently treated as vermouth is in a fine martini (waved in the general vicinity). After the glop was slapped on your plate by the sullen member of the dining hall crew, you proceeded to get something to drink. Will it be a coke or ... a coke? And when you held the little glass (not the monstrous vessels I saw on a recent return to PC) the machine would issue a braying blaat -- out of syrup. Oh well... Occasionally excitement might ripple up the line -- "ice cream bars tonight, pass it on" recalling nothing so much prisoners excitement on rumors of escape in some old time prison movie. Three flavors of frozen yogurt in one dining hall would then have been no less of esoterica than a discussion of the number of angels one might get to dance on the head of a pin.
KT