Fine dining.
Who’s to say taste isn’t subjective? One man’s beef Wellington is another man’s McRib. The cuisine of Chicken Francese is valued less to personal taste when compared to dinosaur chicken nuggets.
I am a person of simple tastes. Not only am I the person who orders water at restaurants because of its life-sustaining hydrational value and its addition of $0.00 on my check, but I am also one to order the plainest, most dull dish possible at a restaurant.
Why?
I am cheap. The happiness from food is fleeting, but the guilt and despair of paying more than $10.99 on a one-time event that repeats twice daily lasts much longer.
My food philosophy is simple. If the expiration date is reasonable, eat and move on. If there’s mold on it, pick it off and eat the rest.
The Bistro fuels my “food is just there to keep you alive” mindset. It’s simple and readily available, and people need to stop forming wrinkles all over the place.
I actually love the Bistro. Sometimes, I am embarrassed by how excited I get when the chicken and wild rice soup is available.
I remember a Bistro worker telling me that the soup was the week’s featured soup, and I physically “woo-ed.” Being the most cynical person alive, I have never wooed in my life. But that second, my pure exhilaration overcame me.
Also, in my opinion, the Bistro is way better than the cafeteria. Not only is the Bistro better because it’s open virtually the entire day, but the cafeteria has this useless hole-filled mat (trap) that my heels get caught in every single time.
For some reason, I feel more comfortable in the Bistro. Suppose I sit alone with my laptop open, as always. In that case, I seem like that mysterious indie-film character that will eventually make a soul connection over a croissant with the corduroy-jacket writer that is still recovering from childhood trauma.
On the contrary, if I sit alone at the long, Henry the VIII banquet tables in the cafeteria, I just look antisocial and have no friends. This is me just weighing my options.
Also, let me address the elephant in the room and say that they sometimes take away the sandwiches, but they are sandwiches.
You’re telling me that you passed up the delicious (not sarcasm) combination of cafeteria brown rice topped with grilled chicken and the Greek vegetable stew alongside assorted steamed veggies to complain about them taking away the three slimy cold-cut combo sandwiches for 13 hours? Reassess losers.
Not to mention that when they take away the sandwiches, there is only one guy working behind the counter. He is my hero.
Before I complain, I always think about how I physically drive to my parent’s house to get bottles of water because filling my Brita filter up 37 feet away is just too much effort to muster. That is entirely true and has happened four times. My Brita filter is currently empty.
If humankind exceeds the lazy category to fool itself into thinking that more work is less, the Bistro man is inhuman.
And yes, they always make my salads wrong, but who actually wants to eat a salad? The only reason I get a salad for one of my meals is that I finally had the time to take a long look at myself in the mirror for the first time in three weeks.
So, with tears gathering in my eyes, I shakily ask, “Are you guys doing salads today,” hoping they weren’t.
Enjoy the other delicacies the Bistro has. Have you tried the veggie hummus pizza? I would easily take a BB gun bullet point-blank to my bare kneecap for one bite.
So, personally, everyone who hates the Bistro can kindly skip rocks and allow there to be one ounce of happiness in my soul.
I could also make this an ad for the Bistro, which I can do, so I will. If you’re still open-mouth breathing on the sofa during the sixth week of classes and need a job, contact one of the bistro workers.
