No new updates in three weeks. Have I grown tired of writing? Have the commitments of the semester become too demanding? Has the Caf actually improved? The simple answer: no–I simply have not been fed a decent meal during the last three weeks.

During the first month and a half of the current semester, the Caf was serving up culinary monstrosities with reckless abandon. I fired back, lampooning carcinogenic pork and subaquatic casseroles. Over time, however, I found myself facing the same uninspired dishes. Desperate for content, I lashed out at every minor offense, but the words caught in my throat.

The Caf had silenced me. For three weeks, I marched in step with my fellow diners, never balking at the abominations served. I ate with gusto, disregarding low quality and nutritional inadequacy. And then, one random Wednesday evening, epiphany shattered my trance. As I sat picking at a particularly colorful chicken dish, the memory of Fried Chicken Wednesday surfaced in my mind.

Deep in my subconscious, synapses fired in violent tattoo–but the revelation clicked painfully in my addled brain; I was experiencing the mental equivalent of tasting a word on the tip of my tongue. Tearing my gaze from the plate, I got to my feet and promptly fetched two cookies and a cup of coffee.

On my way back, lost in thought, I almost collided with a trolley pushed by a mindless Caf drudge, but dodged it with a careless “‘scuse.” Then, I stopped. At this point, the camera would be filming me freezing in my tracks and spinning slowly on my heel to face an object off-screen.

The trolley. On it rested items I have never seen present in the Caf: salt shakers of actual glass–with actual metal tops–being wheeled through the premises. Where were they going? If not used for regular meals–who is enjoying their use? I managed to snap the following photo before the trolley disappeared from view.

We may be on the verge of solving the mystery, my fellow diner. The mystery–the inspiration behind this blog, the obvious truth that has remained ignored. It is this: I believe there exists another Caf, a Shadow Caf, where nutritional food served on a daily basis. Where diners operate with real utensils. The meals we have been served over the past few weeks corroborates my theory: the Caf–our Caf–has been rehashing food due to budget constraints.

I know my accusation may come off as far-fetched, and I intend to face the criticism head on. I also intend to solve this mystery. If the Shadow Caf exists, I will find it.