Edited by: Bhavika Rawat
It’s often said that food has a magical way of bringing people together—it’s truly unbelievable the impact two straws, one bubbly soda, and a shared cheesy garlic bread have had in helping me make lifelong friendships. Suddenly, hours seem to have passed since I sat down, and I’ve made a memory. When I think about the different food outlets on campus, it’s impossible not to connect each one of them with the friends who make them feel like home. Each outlet feels like an extension of the bond I share with a particular friend, the kind of bond that grows in the simplest, most ordinary moments happening in these places. Here’s a glimpse into how each of these places hold a special space in my heart—and in my friendships.
The Fuelzone Friend
The convenience and warmth of Fuelzone makes it perfect to walk to at any time. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t demand much from you—it only gives comfort, just as this friend does. The Fuelzone Friend is always ready to grab a cappuccino —I could call her up at 5 pm during a study break or even at 9:30 pm when she’s leaving a meeting and has another one in fifteen minutes, and she would still come. It’s less about the coffee and more about the company, of fleeting moments in between bouts of stressful durations where you get to spend a few minutes with someone you love, and how it exalts your exhausting day to a hopeful one. Fuelzone, whether it be brick-red or Barbie pink with blue counters, is always familiar—a comfortable place I can go when I’m drowning in assignments, about to give up on the day, and get a text saying: “fz?” Suddenly, the exhaustion lifts, even if just for a moment, and we walk to Fuelzone together, laughing over nothing and everything. She buys me my cappuccino, saying, “It’s okay. Next time, you get it,” and we both know that these little acts of kindness (to our GPays, mostly) and quiet moments are what keep us going.
The Greenox Friend
Greenox is where the bold flavors meet the healthier, more outré side of me—I find myself going there more and more, not only because of their banger playlists but because it’s where I go when I’m on a determined health kick. But it’s also where my friend, the one who’s always trying something new, convinces me to step outside my comfort zone. Greenox is the spot we go when we’re craving something fresh, something a little different, when we’re tired of eating mess food (our trips become more frequent as the time it takes for that to happen gets shorter every semester). My friend is the one who knows every new superfood, every trendy smoothie bowl, and every quirky salad combination. At first, I’m skeptical, but she convinces me to try a quinoa bowl or something I’d never otherwise try, and before I know it, I’m loving it. We wait forever for our orders, leaning against the wall, slowly catching up on each other’s days and mindlessly chatting about anything and everything— the packed schedules, the small wins, the you’re-going-to-love-this-sub-believe-me arguments. It’s in those moments, holding a dish that’s probably more complicated than either of us is, that I realize how much these little moments of connection matter. The food may be healthy, but these small interactions are what nourishes my soul.
The Blue Tokai Friend
Blue Tokai is where I go when I need something extra—the rich, indulgent taste of a salted caramel and chocolate croissant I can’t afford but desperately crave. It’s that place you save for when you need a pick-me-up, when you’ve earned a treat after surviving a tough week. And, naturally, my Blue Tokai friend is the one who knows how to indulge with me. We go there when we feel like we deserve a little luxury, even if we’re both silently judging the price tags. She’s the kind of friend who shares my love for overpriced lattes, and helps coax me into sometimes (many times) overspending on things I’m not sure I deserve to spend on. Sometimes it’s celebratory—like when we finish the worst final we’ve probably given in our time at Ashoka, but hey, at least it’s over—let’s have a Korean cream cheese bun! Sometimes, it’s a pick-me-up, when I don’t get into some club or project I really wanted to join and she buys me food as a compensation for the disappointment. It’s not about the quality of the food (okay, a little bit)—it’s about the unspoken understanding that sometimes, you need a little extravagance to get through the grind.Â
The Dhaba Friend
There’s just something about the Dhaba—its cheap yet comforting food that hits the spot when you need it most. And the friend I associate with the Dhaba is the one who’s always there for those low-key moments, the ones that don’t require anything fancy. She’s the friend who’ll show up in the middle of a cold, rainy night and suggest, “Want to grab some parathas?” No planning needed, no agenda—just the promise of warm food and good conversation. The Dhaba isn’t about luxury, and neither is this friendship. It’s simple, genuine, and exactly what I need in those quiet, calm moments. We sit at the plastic tables, on colourful chairs, wrapped in jackets against the chill, and dig into our plates, sharing bites and laughing about our days and complaining every time, in exactly the same way, about how cold it is. Ironically, the Dhaba is where the world feels just a little bit warmer, and that’s exactly what this friendship feels like— its the kind that’s always there when you need comfort, no questions asked.
Food has a way of marking the moments that shape our lives, and the outlets on campus have become more than just places to eat—they’re the settings for the meaningful connections I share with my friends. Similar to these many outlets that mean so much to me, not every friend is going to be the ideal person for everything you want to do or for every experience you want to have. You find a kind of joint interest, an activity that each of your friends are individually perfect for (for me, it’s hopping from one outlet to another at Ashoka). They represent the friendships that define my college experience—friendships that are simple, beautiful, and comforting in ways I never imagined. I know that I’m not just savoring a meal, but in reality, cherishing the people who make every bite feel just a little bit sweeter.