“Mystery meat” Mondays that you just stopped asking about.
"MYSTERY MEAT" MONDAYS THAT YOU JUST STOPPED ASKING ABOUT.
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Remember those Monday evenings? The fluorescent glow, the clatter of trays, and that one particular dish. It wasn't just food; it was a weekly existential question disguised as a protein. Was it beef? Pork? A cleverly disguised tofu amalgam? The texture was an enigma, the flavor profile a culinary Rorschach test. At first, we’d speculate wildly – elaborate conspiracy theories involving the deepest corners of the kitchen, or perhaps a secret ingredient sourced from a forgotten biology experiment. Freshmen, wide-eyed and full of academic vigor, would try to analyze its molecular structure, debating its origins with the intensity usually reserved for ancient Greek philosophy.
But eventually, something shifted. The questioning stopped. It wasn’t surrender, not exactly. It was more like an unspoken pact, a collective acceptance that some mysteries were best left unsolved, especially when you had a P-Set due at midnight and another class at 8 AM. The “mystery meat” became a backdrop, a familiar if slightly unsettling constant in the chaotic symphony of Ivy League life. We learned to navigate it, to strategically pile on the salad bar options, or to simply embrace the unknown, fueled by caffeine and an unwavering belief in our own resilience.
For those of us who survived it, those Monday meals aren't just about questionable ingredients. They're about shared glances across crowded tables, the silent camaraderie of a collective experience, and the subtle humor in finding sustenance amidst the intellectual grind.
What did you make of it? What culinary masterpiece did you create around it? Or did you, like many of us, just stop asking?
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