When I lived on campus my favorite place to hang, or as I used to say chillax, was the Davenport dining hall. I would sit there for hours—well between the hours of 5:30 and 7:20. At 7:20 I was always promptly, yet very politely (hi Joanne!), asked to leave. People would often exclaim with wonderment when they saw me, and they always saw me: “You’re always here,” they would say. What they really meant was: “Don’t you have a fucking life?” I didn’t but that is beside the point. The point being that I loved the dining hall.

But at the same time the dining hall’s food selections confused me. I would often wonder, specifically between the hours of 5:30 and 7:20, which niches of the Yale eating community had too much pull over the menu selection. Just who had the dining hall in their pockets. It wasn’t me, obviously, because if it was me the only thing that would be served would be soup, specifically butternut squash, occasionally lentil.

I went to the dining hall last night. That is actually not true, I went to Atticus last night, but I want this story to be freshly relevant based on a recent revelation. Really I last went to the dining hall two weeks ago but same diff. What matters was the vegan ravioli that I saw there and the realization that it was time for the dining hall to stop pandering.

Vegans: I admire you, I really do. Life is hard when you’re a vegan (I wouldn’t know but one time I ran out of milk and had to eat cereal with water, it was tough). But the fact is the Yale menu selector pampering you is only going to make adjusting to the real world that much harder. You need to learn to forage for food not be given multiple menu options (really usually just one menu option but ruining ravioli should count for more). Just think about all the things you will learn from the salad bar, like that lettuce is okay to eat!

People from the south: I don’t know if you like grits. What I do know is that I do not. I especially don’t like them replacing oatmeal every Tuesday and Thursday. This is the east coast—we all have to give up something (I gave up guacamole and am managing) so you too can give up grits. Also fun fact I learned from a country song G.R.I.T.S also stands for girls raised in the south. That’s all.

Norwegians: I get it you might miss home but do you really miss Norwegian food? Yes Davenport only did Norway night once but once was enough. There is exactly one Norwegian at Yale. I’m sure you’re great! Hei og beste ønsker, which means hello and best regards, but since it’s from Google translate it probably doesn’t mean anything, so don’t get it tattooed on your forearm.