What Mr. Z Eats: Meals 024 and 025

9.21.15 Dinner

MR. Z.: Okay. So I got to Commons at 6-ish, the time I usually go. Figured there would be plenty of food on display. Got there and nothing. There was no pizza, no bread for sandwich-making, no soup, very few greens... absolutely nothing. So this is what I ended up with...

That's a tortilla filled with whatever was left of the turkey, lettuce and cheese, and hiding under it is a tiny amount of green scraps and some really shitty chicken.

ME: Why was all the food gone?!

MR. Z.: I have no idea. Apparently, the oven was turned off, which explained the lack of pizza, and I also came right at the end of the rush, so there was a MASSIVE line.

This meal's color palette:

Well, it took a plate full of shitty scraps and cast-offs but Mr. Z finally entered the green end of the food spectrum. Look at that: it looks like a skid mark on Sparty's kilt after the big game.

Remind me again why we're paying thousands of dollars for a meal plan when all Mr. Z. can manage to scrounge up for dinner is a green tortilla, chicken gristle and some ornamental greens? Granted, it's probably a bonus that he's taking a night off from pizz-a-palooza and his duodenum will probably thank him in the morning but this is pretty bogus. Maybe he was able to at least have a satisfying dessert...

MR. Z.: And then, the cookies were gone for dessert, too, so I had to go to the weird dessert section. "Take a chance," I thought. In ended up with these, which looked promising...

MR. Z.: The brownie was... passable but a little on the hard side. That strange blob on the left was called a "custard Napoleon" and it tasted like... Cheetos. It was horrible. We ended up collecting all of our Cheeto monstrosities and placing them in the middle of the table, then covering them with the remainders of our dinner scraps.

Now, I've had a Napoleon before and, while they're not really my cup of tea, I don't remember them tasting like Cheetos. He is in Wisconsin, though, so you never know. They put "chee" in everything up there. He did chime in with a happy dinner addendum, however...

MR. Z.: Then some food FINALLY arrived, so I had a slice of pizza and an orange (had no time to even take a picture because I just needed to eat).

And with that, balance was restored to the world and to his cheese-infused digestive flora. But I'm putting you on notice, college dining hall. My son suffers from severe lactose-tolerance and if he doesn't ingest about five times the recommended daily allowance of milk and milk by-products, the consequences can be devastating: not farting every five minutes, not stinking up his entire floor after taking a toxic cheddar-dump, not slipping into a cheese-coma 20 minutes after every meal. Keep that pizza oven on, for god's sake.