Dire college food situation causes food to be overlooked

I’ve decided, just recently, that I don’t like eating anymore. Don’t worry, I do eat. But, I can’t say I enjoy it as much as I did when I lived at home.

Maybe I’m just not creative enough. I feel like I’m eating the same things for every meal. You know it’s bad when you wake up angry because you have to think about what it is you’re going to eat that day.

The concept of eating for enjoyment or pleasure has basically left me. I eat for two basic reasons: First, it’s socially unacceptable (or so I’ve been told) to go too long without eating. Second, my mom would get worried.

I live off campus, so I have to make my own meals, all the time. While this does have its downfalls, it’s definitively not as bad as eating at the dining halls.

The idea that anyone could actually fulfill the myth of the ‘Freshman 15’ living on this campus is utterly ridiculous. When I came home for Winter break, my mom thought she had sent me to Ethiopia Community College.



I would swipe my card and just get vegetables. A plate of tomatoes. Maybe some apples or bananas if I felt extra, dare I say, fruity?

Over the past few semesters, I had taken a serious break from the dining halls. A semester abroad and a semester living off campus took me away from the Robert Shaw Halls of the world.

Bored with my own cooking skills, I’ve since trudged back into the dining halls. Robert Shaw 1, Scott Spinelli 0.

Some of the shenanigans they pull there, after having been away for some time, really are mind-blowing.

This whole no lunch thing on the weekends really pisses me off. I don’t even go on weekends anymore, but that’s beside the point. Does the Denny’s ‘Moons over my Hammy’ breakfast sponsor the dining halls on this campus?

My other issue relates more to health than convenience. Those breadsticks. Holy hell. First, let me say, I’ve enjoyed them quite thoroughly in the past, as one should (they’re delicious). That being said, even Ray Charles can see the symbolism of those breadsticks and your arteries.

So, I’m forced to go and buy my own food. For the record, let me say that I’m a P&C guy. I like Wegmans, I do. But, I can’t go there. Whenever I go, I wind up buying stuff that I clearly don’t need. It’s got that Home Depot power over me, where I start convincing myself that I need things I definitely don’t.

‘You know, I could use some Starfruit imported from the plains of Venezuela.’

Don’t even get me started on Whole Foods. I don’t think there’s a more pretentious organization on the planet. Organic fruit, organic cereal, organic tooth brushes. Enough is enough.

There are only two types of people in there: One’s that hippie type, and the other is that wealthy business man who thinks that buying this type of food (if only because they can afford it) will erase the years of gluttony that preceded that week’s purchase. Nice try.

Anyway, once I’ve purchased my supplies, I need some kind of guide. So, I watch Food Network for recipes.

My favorite cook to get recipes from, naturally, is Giada De Laurentiis. The reasons are simple. Her dishes are incredibly low cut, the ingredients don’t cost too much breast, and they taste like they’ve been pushed in my face for half an hour.

Here’s my problem: I treat eating like a challenge. When I go to eat chips and salsa, it’s a dual between the two containers. Barring an unforeseen illness, I don’t stop until one of the two is finished. It becomes a feat of strength, a battle to determine which will outlast the other. You’d think that the chips would always win, but sometimes I throw the fight, skimpily dipping on purpose, just so the salsa gets some moral support.

Though he’s talking about jail, Styles P. unknowingly and ungrammatically describes the entire scene here at Syracuse University when he says, ‘I don’t wanna live here, the walls is gray, the clothes is orange, the phones is broke and the food is garbage.’

Scott Spinelli’s column appears every Thursday. Holler at your boy boy @ scott.spinelli@gmail.com. Word to moms.





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