Tastes Like Chicken-n-Pesto

As I sit here, stuffed to overflowing with Paesano's pasta, I thought I would take a hot minute to reminisce about some super sweet meals I've had over the past few years. Dinner especially has come to mean a lot to me. It's a time for "fellowship," as one of my friends would say. And I'm now in the habit of making sure that dinner is my time. The phone is silenced, the blinders are on, and there is no work to be spoken for. Even if its just for an hour, I allow my world to spin a little slower.

I have not always embraced this fine philosophy of mine. As a first year, I could be seen running back and forth from the various "a-la-carte" establishments on campus, stir fry or sandwich in hand, ready for my next music rehearsal. My various activities consumed my life to the point that I was much more at ease eating on the run. I carried everything I owned in a messenger bag, and it is a miracle indeed that I didn't develop more serious back or shoulder issues.


That year was not good for my health. We'll leave it at that for now.

My second year on campus, I became rather engrossed in the community I lived in, and that led to a lot more sit-down meals. It was in this year that I became attached to the buffet style dining halls, where I would spend hour after hour, sitting, eating and just shooting the you know what. I remember lunches and dinners both when I left that place laughing so hard I was crying. One of the girls that was often at my table once cried so hard she peed her pants! At a breakfast outing one morning, some guys I was with ended up starting a giant grape war that I was sure would land us kicked out for good. By far, the funniest event of the season would be when someone would improperly dispose of a tray. There was a strange conveyer belt system that lead down a shoot to the basement of the dining hall. If you happened to miss the proper rack, the tray and all the plates on it would go tumbling down the 10ft shoot and you could hear the glass shatter. I often wondered if the people down below had to wear safety goggles, as I'm sure the broken cutlery produced shrapnel-like shards that would surely slice your face up if you didn't watch out. We would sometimes joke about going in for lunch at 11  and refusing to leave until after dinner was over at 7. It was in that year that I began to learn the beauty of a sit-down dinner. No matter what was going on, I could always afford an hour. And hour to forget about work and school, and just be.

In my third year, the fellowship of dinner became necessity. Life was in a weird place, and the stress of everyday living was a bit much for this girl to handle. The obvious answer was 2 hour dinners where I tried to reinvent the wheel of the tired dining hall. I still have pictures of some tasty looking pasta dishes I managed to dress up, and I'll be forever indebted to the woman who opened my eyes to the wonders of strawberries dipped in hot fudge from the ice cream bar. At dinner that year, I usually limited myself to 15 minutes of complaining. After that, it was time to find a new topic. That, friends, is called survival of the fittest. Stay sane or go home.

Luckily, all of my years on campus have culminated to this last one, where I find myself, yet again immersed in the dining halls. The fellowship is still ever-present, but I do admit, I'm kind of over the food. With no energy left to reinvent the wheel, I'm left chewing on "shoe leather meat," chased down with juice concentrate (no, I didn't write that incorrectly. Most juice is from concentrate. They forgot to add water I think, because our juice is just straight up, rip the enamel from your teeth, concentrate.) But, you know what? Even though the chicken tastes like the pork tastes like the beef, and the pasta is coated in slimy butter, and the salad in the bar is a little rotten, I still make a voyage there every day for dinner. Alone or with friends, I'm always down for a little dinner style down time.