I've learned a lot during my second semester of college. Maybe you're thinking, "It's only been two weeks. I've barely been in class." This is not true. I will proudly proclaim that I have attended every one of my classes for two weeks straight. This is potentially record-setting. What I've learned, though, has little to do with the Gender, Death and Dying or Intensive French Grammar or whatever those other classes are titled.
Instead, I've learned that, apparently, those head-down, feet-shuffling "walks of shame" are really called "walks of fame." Doesn't that make you feel better already? And that it's OK to wear white after Labor Day. Did you know if you leave an orange in your mini fridge during break, you will see mold growing on the shelves and taste acidic rot when you sip water bottles stored near said mold? Furthermore, January is National Stalking Awareness Month. Take heed Facebook stalkers - you're on the most-wanted list.
Because this is a food column, I guess I should say that I've learned something about food. I have a great new recipe that I whipped up in Kellogg dormitory's kitchen while wearing pearls, heels and a Kiss the Cook apron. Bask in that dream-like image for a while because that's what I did yesterday morning while crumbling a raspberry Pop-tart into my mouth.
OK, so I'm a lame gourmand. A poor man's foodie. But what's wrong with eating anything edible? I'm a cheap date and I could probably survive in the wilderness for at least a couple of days. I have every intention to cook something fantastic, or maybe not so fantastic, in the near future - when I have more time. Once I determine which lectures have optional attendance and which Facebook profiles I don't have to check every day, my schedule will be much more open.
Back to learning. I may not be able to offer you gourmet cooking experience, but after a semester of college, I think I can guide you through campus dining. I like dining halls. Perhaps it's because I was a "hot plate" chick in high school; my week was made if I had mystery meat, boxed mashed potatoes and a slimy iceberg Italian salad. I'm not being facetious. If those choices made me happy, one can only imagine the joy that dining halls offer me.
The international food section of Newcomb is my preferred lunch location: small portions, generally good - well, interesting - food. Also, it is less crowded than the other side. "The other side" is a place I rarely venture to mainly because the stir-fry chicken is too crunchy, the sauce is too thick, the sandwiches can't be toasted, the pasta is wet and the sauce is watery. Yes, even faux gourmands can be picky. Of course, if the less appetizing food were the only option, I would be all over it, probably sipping a carton of milk to cement the cafeteria aura.
I've only eaten at Runk twice. I know Hereford kids are all about that place, but I don't think I've been there enough to say that it is any better than O-Hill. O-Hill and I have a bit of a dalliance, and I'm not quite ready to break up with her - or him? - quite yet.
O-Hill's stir fry is neither too crunchy nor too saucy. Stir fry is the dinner of champions. Rice equals carbs, vegetables equal vitamins (or whatever) and chicken/beef/fake chicken, also known as tofu, equals protein. If that doesn't get you ready to party, I don't know what does. O-Hill also toasts its sandwiches. O-Hill's salad bar (Thai salad bar! Greek salad bar! Chicken Caesar salad bar!) never disappoints. Most importantly, though, O-Hill's Sundae Sundays are always there for you before the start of another rough week - or at the end of an awful weekend.
No matter how good your meal is at O-Hill, two key factors can turn a good time into a horrific/embarrassing/worst-day-ever experience. The first horrific/embarrassing/worst-day-ever experience applies mainly to first-year students, because I think most upperclassmen learn how to avoid it after a while. You know what I'm talking about: the morning-after run-in. O-Hill turns into "oh, hella awkward" when all you want is to get your please-cure-this-headache coffee, and all he wants to do is make eye contact. Not like I've ever run into someone who wants to make eye contact. That's why I can exaggerate and say "worst day ever" for at least two days.
Another "worst day ever" involves something a wise friend of mine deems the "first bad bite." This can happen to anyone, anytime, anywhere. Even the most colorful, steaming, perfectly sauced stir fry can offer you that first bad bite. Too crunchy because that's a bone in there, too chewy because it's raw and too weird-tasting because it really isn't chicken or beef or tofu. After the first bad bite, the whole bowl or plate is ruined. This particular worst day ever is super short, though, because dining halls are like buffets, and you can always try again! I've found that "third time's the charm" is a pretty accurate calculation.
If you have a meal plan, don't be afraid to eat at the dining halls. Just because something looks and smells strange doesn't mean it is. Let loose; you're in college. Try something new. I'm always willing to at least taste something if it means I don't have to break into my cereal or my roommate's pizza when I get back to my room. Munching isn't good for the figure I try to maintain for the next morning run-ins. One must always be fit and active for awkward situations - it helps with a quicker getaway.
Connelly's column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at c.hardaway@cavalierdaily.com
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