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.“