It is a truth universally acknowledged that college food stinks. I spend $15 per day on two meals, and both of them are awful. I eat 3/4 cup of cottage cheese and a salad for one meal, and either soup and a salad or a “burrito bowl” for the other. The salad is usually wilted with a haphazard olive oil and vinegar dressing, and I can’t toss it because the bowl is too small. These are the kinds of meals that are bad once and nearly intolerable twice, let alone every day. While my taste buds have been very unhappy since August 18, I have had a chance to reflect on my love of food.
Since the first time I ate solid food, I have been an adventurous eater. When I was two, my favorite meal was ratatouille. Every time we went to the grocery, I would reach for eggplant and beg my mom to make it. She made it so frequently, in fact, that my dad had to ask her to stop making it.
One time, my family went to a Brazilian restaurant where the waiters brought slabs of various cooked meats to each table and sliced pieces for the customers, and I stuffed both of my little fists full of meat and alternated bites from each hand.
The first time I tried sushi, I was four or five, and I loved it.
The common denominator: I have always been a foodie. I worship at the shrine of the Whole Foods goddesses and I scout restaurants and coffee shops like nobody’s business. I spent last summer cooking fresh, tasty meals and frequenting my favorite local eateries in Phoenix. When I got to college, the dismal food scene really started bringing me down, and I realized that good food affects my quality of life more than I had thought. My happiest moments have been spent cooking and eating delicious food with the people I love.
I’m used to great food and I frequently dread mealtimes here, but I have come to appreciate my my parents’ cooking so much more than I did before. My mom told me over and over again that I was lucky to enjoy home-cooked meals every night, and I acknowledged her claims but never fully “got it.” They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, and here, that seems pretty true. Thanks, college, for showing me what I had. And thanks, Mom and Dad, for teaching me how to cook!
