Going into residence, I had preconceptions about the whole “dining experience.” I imagined intimidating women in hairnets serving out helpings of beef slop, veggie slop and surprise slop, which would just be a beef and veggie slop blend. I hate giving in to clichés, but there was a part of my brain that truly believed that’s how it would be. It’s also the part that tries convincing me Pop-Tarts are somewhat healthy and that walking to the fourth floor burns off routinely eaten pie.
Walking into the hall was a grand experience. There was no slop! There was pita bread, stir-fry, chicken skewers and roast beef. Oh how I love roast beef. I went straight for it. It was love at first smell. The succulent gravy, the lightly pink middle, the potent tang of that outer layer. I relished as the server carved the mighty roast, struggling, still fighting with it to slice out a serving of my favourite meat. She dipped the geometrically pleasing ladle in the gravy tub and poured sweet victory over my roast. I topped it off with some cauliflower and a strip of garlic bread to produce a meal worthy of a king. King of England, King of Floors, King of Late Night, any King. The food is great. What it lacks in love it makes up in quantity. Enough of anything trumps love eventually, especially when anything involves gravy.