This week has been a rollercoaster of emotions, what with the wrapping up of in-person classes, the stress of moving out, and the world’s impending doom.
So over this weekend, I decided to treat myself to a real rarity: The Same Goddamn Dining Hall I’ve Been Going To For Four Months™. I found some real delicacies there, and I’m honestly impressed… that I’ve been eating the same three things without ending up comatose.
To get things off to an exciting start, I hopped in the soup line (not to be confused with Soup Store, from which I am definitely not purchasing clothing). I was delighted to see that they had my favorite: artichoke dip! As I said, the soup line never disappoints.
The slosh of goop poured into those brown cups is so tantalizing that I, like any normal student, almost want to submit to my horse instincts and slurp straight from the soup tub itself. The flavor of the soup is good. Really good. Really really really really really really really really good. I don’t mean to make anyone hungry, but it’s hard to resist describing it in such agonzing detail. The perfect balance between that weird liquid at the bottom of the cup and chunks of artichoke that remind me how close death always is makes the experience practically unbeatable. Although I’m not here to judge, this soup is a solid “y” and “e” out of “yes.”
After a mouthwatering appetizer, I grabbed a dish from the made-to-order pasta line. This station always provides a surprise to keep me on my toes. Will it be as cold as I wish the Arctic still was? Will it give me those rarely-witnessed fourth degree burns on my mouth? No one could ever hope to guess!
The options they offer give plenty of room for experimentation, so I decided to spice things up with my choices and go with enough garlic to permanently fry my taste buds, “chicken,” and not-quite-sure-what-it-is-but-it’s-green-so-it-has-to-be-good-for-me-right. Each bite is filled with the tenderness of those little ridges that make me feel like Chef Boy-Are-De, and the occasional bit of chomping down on my tongue like an idiot. Without a doubt, I can say that it was definitely food, which means I give it a resounding score of 189/231.
To finish off the night unlike any other night except for every other night, I headed off to Just Desserts. Ha! Clever title makes brain go brr.
Now, where there’s most likely room for improvement within the other stations, there is only one option any self-respecting human being would ever consider when it comes to the world of Douggie Desserts.
There is only the one.
The only.
Salty Caramel ice cream.
Rich swirls of caramel that run rivers through tan ice cream give me a free trial of the pearly gates, but, like, better. Each bite is a reminder that I am not worthy of its glory. Each molecule of flavor, a blessing bestowed upon a human such as me. The grace, the poise, the existence of Salty Caramel… what a dream.
Now, it is critical to understand that this dessert is never, under no circumstances, to be confused with Salted Caramel. This is Salty Caramel. The misspelled label is half the majesty, and any blasphemous claims otherwise will be met with a prompt mental breakdown on my part. Score: my own personal forbidden fruit. I would damn humanity in a heartbeat for this.
Throughout my first semester on campus, I’ve experienced many experiences, and that experience will help me gain experience for future experiences. The most memorable experience thus far has certainly been Salty Caramel, and I plan to impart this crucial info to all willing to listen.
