web extra: The Dining Hall Diet

by Alec Bojalad

I am a fat bastard. And like most fat bastards, I don’t particularly enjoy being one. But unfortunately, I have been unable to shake my weight problem for quite some time now. I have lived through a lifetime of the diet starts: next week, next month, next year, and awww, just forget it and pass me the Twinkie. College, however, is the time to re-invent oneself so wouldn’t freshman year be the perfect time to start that diet?

The problem is: I, like 99.9 percent of college students, am poor-ass broke. As far as wealth in America goes, college students fall somewhere between welfare recipients and the despondent homeless living under a bridge thinking they are the Archangel Gabriel (probably skewing closer to the homeless guy as a matter of fact). And with a limited budget comes limited food options, and none of them are particularly healthy. So in order to keep my wallet fat and my waistline thin, I decided to undergo a fairly extreme diet. For one month, I pledged to eat nothing but the healthiest dining hall fare I could find, two meals a day. I don’t drink any alcohol or consume any other harmful substance and I certainly don’t exercise, other than walking to classes. So my journey to escape from my 247.2 pound existence was influenced only by the dining hall food that I ate.

Of the four dining halls on campus, I sample three of them. I eat at Boyd three times, Jefferson six times and Nelson an astounding 51 times (I live in nearby Tiffin Hall and am a man of convenience). The task begins simply enough. Options that could be considered “healthy” are more abundant than I originally thought. Of the three or four unique entrees that halls serve regularly, at least one can be considered reasonably healthy. Unfortunately, it isn’t always the tastiest option.

The first day of my “experiment”, the only healthy option I can discern that is available at Old Nelson is a tofu and mushroom combination, which seems to be encased in a substance that looks suspiciously like vomit. I solemnly ask the Nelson worker for the mush and force it down.

That experience, however, does not prove to be the norm. There are times when I am entreated to a fresh lemon-grilled chicken breast, just like mom used to make, or a turkey and tomato burger patty (one of the more bizarre, yet tasty things I sampled). The only problem is that the “healthiness” of the main entrees are inconsistent at best from day to day. So a low-cal scavenger, like myself, must turn his or her eyes elsewhere in the dining hall to find nutrients, such as the salad bar.

What a shining oasis in a desert of desserts. For the span of 30 days, the salad bar becomes a mecca for me. Every dining hall has one, and better yet, every dining hall has a plethora of low-fat dressing options (except for Old Nelson, which only has the sickly-sweet tasting low-fat Ranch). The salad is the staple of any health food slave’s … I mean enthusiast’s diet. Most dining halls also feature other regular staples so if the only entree options are fried steak, fried peas and fried water, one doesn’t have to go hungry. My safety valve quickly becomes the sandwich bar. The sandwich can be as healthy as you want it to be … problem is, I usually never wanted a healthy one. After I assemble a turkey sandwich on wheat bread with no mayo, I realize that I have never actually tasted turkey before in my life, only globs of mayo stuffed in between white bread. Turns out the taste of turkey isn’t that bad. Between the sandwich bar and the salad bar, I always have something to look forward to even if the main entree fails me.

But I must confess, my dining hall experience wasn’t just sunshine, rainbows and salad bars. I went through my dark times as well. I had to avoid Court Street like Chlamydia. Any hint of the scent of food and my nose would be pressed up against a food-shop window like the Little Match Girl out in the cold. Any type of social activity was a test in my resolution. Near the end of my diet, my girlfriend and I went over to a friend’s room to watch a movie. When they all decided to order Papa John’s, I reacted as uncomfortably as though they all had just whipped out crack pipes and lit up.

In the end, however, after all the tears, frustration and vegetables, came the time for judgment. As I stepped back onto the scale at the Ping Center, I could only stand and stare in anticipation as the numbers on the digital reading began to bounce all over the place. If I gained weight, there is a good chance I would have become a college dropout. Then the numbers stood still.

238.8. A mere 8.4 pounds lighter.

In the end, I can conclude, as I bite into the most succulent, tasty calzone I have ever experienced, that the “Dining Hall Diet” is good for the wallet and good for the stomach, but it isn’t good for the soul.