Iowa

Iowa. State of corn, white trash, and writing. Also, apparently, state of sketchy cafeteria food. Looking around the first time we walked into the dining hall, this is what we saw.

Breakfast: Waffles, pancakes, cereal dispensers, bagels, toast, and a helluva a lot of pastries.
Lunch: Pizza, pasta, sketchy could-be-mashed-potatoes-but-probably-are-thickened, thick soups, and sandwiches.
Dinner: All of the things listed in lunch, plus pan-fried Asian noodles, marinated meats, and an assortment of flaky desserts (titled "baked goods").

Fuck.

We were told by a very enthusiastic woman, about 6 feet tall with excited eyes, that we should go back, "behind the scenes," to the kitchen. The sights of giant mixers, huge soup pots, and similarly large chefs greeted us, as we stood awkwardly, waiting for someone to notice that we were waiting. Occasionally, someone would glance over, but then go back to cleaning dishes, or even pretend like they were doing something.

It's a bonding experience, actually, waiting for the same goal, while the occasional cook took a look at us. (how's that for assonance, right?) We waited until John, a down to earth guy with a grey mustache greeted us warmly, and gave us the trays we were wondering if we should take.

A rubbery chicken (which tasted like it looked), salad (which we'll get to later), and some bland microwaved vegetables grimaced at us from the plate. Yum.

We took our trays over to some other kids in the same program, whose plates were filled with pasta, pizza, and basically an arrangement of the above-mentioned dinner items (it's buffet-style).

People stared at our cellophane wrapped "food." We stared at theirs. For different reasons.

We learned soon enough that we could get by on the buffet that was out. The taco meat was gluten free, as were the shells, (for J, C doesn't eat red meat), the salad bar was fairly well stocked, and there was a few sad looking bananas lying in a bowl. So we could get by.

Apparently, though, the chefs are worried (understandably) about cross-contamination. We'd both eaten at buffets before, and weren't very worried. So we ate that.

The next day, the chef planned a salad for me. He said, "I'll be right back" and I watched him as he scurried over to the salad bar, threw some lettuce on a plate, and hurried back. He handed me the "salad" (lettuce, two tomatoes, three carrots and a slice of cucumber) and asked if I needed anything else. I lied and said that was fine. I wondered, however, why the chef was able to make a salad at the salad bar and magically avoid cross-contamination, but I, apparently, was unable to. Letting me get my own salad would allow me to feel like a normal student. It would prevent stares from fellow classmates and teachers as I made my way, behind the taco station, through the kitchen door.

I, on the other hand, was lucky enough to be born with an aversion to lettuce, and was presented with a Caprese salad (which deserves a post of its own...it will happen sometime. I promise.) My first odd experience was with tacos. One of the chefs asked me if I liked tacos. I said sure.

Living in LA, I eat a lot of good Mexican food. I was soon to learn that cafeteria tacos are nowhere near the legitimate, stir-fried samples of deliciousness I was used to. Not so. He gave me three hard taco shells (covered in cellophane), a bowl of monochromatic taco meat (also covered in cellophane), and a fork and knife (surprisingly not covered in cellophane). I thanked them a lot, and went out to put tomatoes, cheese, and sour cream on them (that is, the tacos, not the chefs, although THAT sounds like an interesting way to spend a day). Looking at the taco bar, I noticed that the meat and the shells looked exactly like the ones I had (though not covered in cellophane).

The next day, I inquired as to the meat. The man said, "Oh, yeah, the meat and shells are the same."

What? So I went through the buffets, through the door, into the kitchen, waited awkwardly for 5 minutes, and back out (OK, so it wasn't that long of a trip, but I'm going for drama here), all for nothing? I could've just eaten the tacos that were out, not looking like a weirdo?

So far, I have eaten 6 meals where the main dish was tacos. I'm ready to vomit. But I still eat. The joys of being a growing teenage boy.

Anyhow, be ready to hear more about Iowa and our adventures with celiac.

- C & J