Cooking is food for your belly, not for the soul.

So this semester my grandiose dreams of ascending to the food-like throne of Emeril have been reduced to Lunch Cook, or as I call it: The art of heating things up. It really is painstaking work, especially with the ovens that Pearson Hall possesses. Those monsters take more coaxing than it takes me to coax myself to exercise (Be it known, this is a number so vast and so large, the scientific community has yet to quantify it). Once the two WWII relics of heat begin their ascent to a paltry 100 degrees below the temperature you set them at, and never quite attaining that temperature, lunch making is all but over. Simply insert some form of frozen chicken, coupled with some form of frozen potatoes, and Voila, lunch for 50 college students. No more will lunch take on these simple ways, for I tasked myself to whip up specialty items so rare and delightful for lunch, that even I sometimes haven't heard of them.
This leads to some interesting and stressful times in the PK (Pearson Kitchen) for me. My cooking partner, bless his heart, has yet to take any of the responsibility, but I digress. He is faithful nonetheless in helping me attempt to create the most scrumptious and taste-gasm inducing Lunches anyone this side of the SYSCO delivery line has seen.

Today, for example, was an interesting attempt at Turkey Tetrazzini and Green Bean Casserole. Tetrazzini might sound fancy, but it isn't, except for when you're trying to cook it for 50 people and it becomes a CF of ingredients in quantities even obese people couldn't handle. That's when you just throw all attempts of gourmet-ness not out the window, but into a pan that could double as a baby's crib. Shove that big nasty into the clutches of the inferno, and hope to god it's ready by 11:45. Talk about stressful.

It's really disappointing the day after a good workout when the stairs leading up to my classes seem even harder than the day I had been doing nothing but sitting on my trusty cheeks shoving my face full of dessert pizza and attempting to grasp the concepts of "Chemistry". Ridiculous, I know. It almost makes me want to plow through the two 5-gallon cartons of ice cream that so surreptitiously display the slogan "Made just for you" proudly on the outside. I call bullshit. If it was all made "Just for me", then what am I going to tell all of the other 47 guys in my hall? "Sorry guys, you can't have any of this horrendous amount of ice cream, I've got strict orders straight from the top that this is only to be consumed by yours truly". I'm sure that'll go off without a moonlight assassination attempt. In our hall, ice cream is like gold, and fruit gushers are silver coins. This is exactly why I have taken the liberty of stashing them all behind a geometric defense system of graham cracker and pudding boxes. Their future is in my hands.

Enough about food, isn't it beautiful outside? That's actually where I'm writing this post. It puts me in prime position to gawk at all the lovely women I'll never have a chance with, along with forming my very first swass of the year (connect the dots, you'll get it). I came to the realization sometime during this first year of higher learning that it is like a utopia of beautiful women, and nowhere else can this amount of good looks be found (besides strip joints). It almost makes me want to stick around for a few more years. Too bad I have to stick to that tight pre-med schedule, ouch! Maybe I'll just switch over to business, that should free up quite a bit of time.

Well I figure that's enough banter for now, the chick I had just set my sights of infatuation upon just caught on to the game I've been playing. Draw Cubes!