8/26: Welcome Back Edition (feat. Chef Boyardee)

First Week is a trial by fire for the Caf, as incoming freshmen are governed by strict schedules into believing lunch is served at 12 PM sharp, and not a minute later. For the seasoned diner, however, this week serves as an opportunity to educate those who have yet to adapt to the System (as well as a reminder to get there early).

First of all, a merry welcome back! is in order. It has been a long four months of eating well, but–as any avid reader of There’s Always Cereal ought to know by know–these things never last. And, if the past week is any indicator, the coming semester is to be prime example of just this.

Wednesday’s experience  was actually heralded several hours prior to its culmination. As I sought refuge from the unrelenting heat some time in the early afternoon, I ducked inside the Caf for a snack. As being able to enjoy a meal in the serenity of a close to abandoned Caf was a welcomed change, I let my defenses fall. Focusing intently on filling a cup full of chocolate milk, I never heard him sneaking up on me.

“Eating already?” a voice said, startling me out of my stupor. Wheeling around, I found myself face to face with none other than the Food Service Director, whose dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail just above his neck. The breath catching in my chest, I made to reply, but the words would not escape me. “There’s going to be fried catfish and ravioli,” the man continued.

“Well, I can’t have dinner before breakfast!” I said finally, albeit lamely, brandishing my styrofoam bowl of cereal. As a response, the man began to fill a glass with some fizzy beverage.

“Here’s mine,” he replied. I returned to my table, completely bewildered. How had I escaped this confrontation? Was my secret identity still intact? Did he know?

Nevertheless, the prospect of ravioli brought me back to the Caf just in time for dinner, regardless of my compromised position. Fighting through a throng of freshmen awkwardly searching for a place to sit, I managed to snag pole position, and was promptly awarded with a spoonful of ravioli. As the clear highlight of the night, the dish quickly lavished my plate without any major obstacles, save for two inconspicuous dinner rolls.

Back at the table, I was less than surprised to find the doughy and the meaty parts of the ravioli shared a mutual flavor and texture. But, as the dish harked back to more enjoyable things, I acquired a second serving.

As the meal drew to a close, a bewildered freshman pulled up a chair and surveyed the entire length of the table.

“What’s good?” he asked genuinely, drawing bemused looks from the upperclassmen.

“The ravioli is alright,” I said–generously enough. I rolled the last dregs of the dish around in my mouth and elaborated: “Though it may be Chef Boyardee.“

“No,” a fellow diner argued, “more likely a bargain brand–something generic.”

“Yes,” I agreed after some reflection, “possibly Great Value.“

Semester Roundup

After four months and eleven* entries, how big of an impact has There’s Always Cereal made on Caf life? The verdict: while some of its secrets and quirks have may have been uncovered, the culinary behemoth has remained largely unchanged. For that, I am thankful.

First, some facts and figures. Since the dawn of time (February 23rd, 2009), There’s Always Cereal has been viewed 985 times, spawning 28 comments. People were most up in arms about the sinister three way A Riddle, Wrapped in a Mystery, Inside an Enigma; this is not surprising, as such a triumvirate was bound to cause a stir. My personal favorite would be the divinely inspired Heaven Hath No Fries, a long-winded rant on an otherwise quite acceptable meal.

The site has also caught the attention of certain high society gentlemen and -women. For the sake of their private lives, these individuals shall not be named, although they are known to frequent certain local hamburger joints, as well as College tailgating opportunities. Additionally, rumors of the site has also reached the ears of the College faculty and staff–and where I previously feared persecution, I can now cite some of them as admitting they enjoy the musings. Consider my expectations for the fall semester jacked way up!

This is also a time for atonement: I have to admit that there were times when I violated the mission statement of the site by purposely avoiding what was being served. This usually occurred every Sunday. Then again, I believe a healthy set of boundaries will keep me from losing any interest in going where every student is forced to go every weekend.

I think the time is also right to blow the cover of this operation. I was, quite recently, charged with what could best be described as libel, though I am also sure my accuser meant it in much the same way my critiques are structured. In most cases, Caf food is not bad. On the other hand, it is often not good. It is, very plainly, mediocre. As finding something worthwhile to write about mediocre food is like searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack, I take it upon myself to blow these culinary events out of proportion, usually by employing biblical allusions, elaborate conceits, and the like. Buried beneath these layers, however, is always a granule of truth, no matter how minuscule it may seem.

In essence, this previous paragraph more or less sums up what There’s Always Cereal intends to do. While I will not (further) embark on discussing whether or not this truth equals beauty, and beauty truth, There’s Always Cereal has worked, and will work, as an exercise in semi-fictional, satirical writing, and, more importantly, critiquing fundamentally unexceptional (neither good nor bad) food.

See you next semester.

3/26: A Riddle, Wrapped in a Mystery, Inside an Enigma

In theory, the Caf claims to be open from 7 to 7–allowing a twelve hour window for diners to eat whenever they please. Realistically, however, the Caf operates on a very unforgiving schedule: come too late, and you’ll find your social status has been reduced to that of a bottom feeder.

After getting of my 9:40 class an hour early, I whiled away some lazy hours in the confines of my room until hunger pangs informed me it was way past feeding time. My primal instincts were right: at noon thirty, I had exceeded my routine checkpoint by a good eighty minutes. Still, I was not in fear of having to go to class on an empty stomach: lunch, after all, is served until 1 PM.

Unfortunately, just like my narrative suggests, this was not the case. Upon my arrival in the Caf, I witnessed the unmistakable signs of their services winding down; at the Expo section, some festering pot pie was being put away (though I am sure it will make a fresh appearance this weekend), while in the main serving area, I was greeted by empty pans and plates–not an unwelcome sight, unless, of course, one is hungry.

Initially, I placed an order for the Salisbury  steak that lay wallowing a pool of its own filth, accompanied by a rice dish punctuated by yesterday’s vegetables. This lasted for a mere five minutes, until the overpowering taste of cigarettes caused me to think outside the box.

Vegetable soup, then, became my backup plan. An unusually hard dish to ruin, this slow-cooked concoction kept me occupied for a while until two main issues surfaced: first, it was so salty I was amazed crystalline formations were not forming around the edge of my bowl, and secondly, what in the world is that vegetable (see above)?

As a coup de grâce, I turned to a solitary quesadilla, which cheese had coalesced in the unknown quantity of time that had passed since its creation. In an act of stupidity, I curiously dissected the thing to observe its innards, and as its contents looked more bloody than cheesy, I graciously passed on that, too.

In retrospect, having had a good thirty hours to reflect on this experience, I liken Thursday’s lunch to the riddle of the lady and the tiger–except that all the rooms contained tigers, and I (foolishly) went on to release every single one of them.