Surely, esteemed Boston University students know how to load a dishwasher properly, right? Right?? The jumbled pile of silverware says otherwise. There are literally little plastic prongs to help you organize the — okay, I’m getting ahead of myself.
At BU London, each dorm floor shares a kitchen; I’d estimate about 15 people share one on my floor. We each have a cupboard to store our things and a shelf in a refrigerator. Storage space isn’t the issue; it’s shared space. Cleanliness. Generally speaking — how do I say this nicely? — knowledge of how to be a decent human being.
I hope it’s clear that I am exaggerating just a smidge. I genuinely love having a kitchen, even a shared one, after two years of dorm living. No more dining halls for Rae Ruane! Fun fact, I refused to step foot inside Warren Dining Hall last year out of sheer spite. I even tabled right outside it, leading up to the election, and ignored the hunger pangs. Warren Towers’ “food” isn’t worthy of that label. If it’s gotten better, though, maybe someone should kindly let me know.
Cooking for myself is a huge responsibility, taking up way more time than expected to plan, shop, and cook everything. What do you mean, I need to do this every day, three times a day?
Still, arriving in a completely new place, familiar flavors brought me back home. My grandparents taught me how to make all my favorite foods before I left home, which was such a special experience. Since then, I have become a great cook, and all my friends sing praises when I share. I’m almost 99% sure it’s because of my skill and not just the fact that it’s free for them.
Some of my favorite on-repeat recipes have been a lentil and pasta stew, called rishta, stir fry, and teriyaki chicken. I also perfected fried eggs. My mom hates fried eggs, so I never had them growing up. If that doesn’t scream independence, I don’t know what does. And, the other day, I made the best breakfast potatoes ever. I am unstoppable.
But… the circumstances are perhaps on occasion less than satisfactory. Despite the pile of silverware described above, we are somehow chronically short on forks, and I don’t think anyone is paying attention to the weekly chore rotation because it’s pretty rare that there aren’t full bags of trash sitting next to the bins. There are housekeepers who replace the bags, but leave the used bags there for us to take out. That’s the level of petty I aspire to be.
People also have a hard time cleaning up after themselves fully, as demonstrated by the food scraps strewn all over and the water dripping off the counters by the sink, ultimately pooling on the floor. It’s super fun.
The absolute highlight, though, has been the passive-aggressive note. A few weeks in, someone left a very harshly worded letter taped on one of the fridges, threatening to set up a camera to catch whomever was stealing their sourdough bread and complete with a hand-drawn emoji making the “I’m watching you” gesture. It was a little excessive, yes, but that note has stayed on the wall all semester. And as far as I know, there’s been no camera or sourdough incidents since. It’s such medieval justice. I love it.
Say what you will about shared kitchens, but at least they never stop entertaining.
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