Disclaimer: Despite what I say, I do love Blanch and all of its offerings (even if some are weirder than others), and I am grateful to have such a bountiful dining hall on campus. Also, I do in fact respect my friends’ meal choices — all mockery is solely for funsies.
- Mega Brownie
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Though, as a vegetarian myself, I have yet to find a single vegan on Mount Holyoke’s campus, Blanch continues to push its dry and crumbly vegan desserts onto unsuspecting students stricken by the crowds spewed forth by the lunch rush. Many a diner has faced a harrowing swim through a sea of Doc Martens, mullets, and weed-scented air in search of the dessert station, only to find that the “Vegan Chocolate Ganache Brownies” are the only sad option offered. This is why, on the rare occasion that “vegetarian” brownies stuffed with eggs and milk become available, it is important to take advantage. I can often be found doing just this, especially when I catch sight of the uncommon Mega Brownie: two (or more) brownies that were not cut apart after being baked. The Mega Brownie makes for a delicious late-night (or noontime, or early morning) snack.
- The hash brown and its flock
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The hash brown (tuberosus ferox) is commonly found in the wilds of New England. It is often seen roaming through Blanch during brunch on Sundays, and many varieties prefer to splash about in the secretions from the ketchup dispenser. Hash browns range in texture from oily to crispy and move from place to place by slowly sliding along on their “foot.” While the beasts are seen commonly enough, it is exceedingly rare for an adult hash brown to be seen with its flock of young, colloquially referred to as “nuggets” due to their roundness and small, underdeveloped shape. Most juvenile hash browns are raised in a hidden den, as their deliciousness and slow reflexes make them an easy target for hungry college students. I was lucky enough to capture photographic evidence of a hash brown flock earlier this year — before, sadly, I instinctually horked them all down.
- Numerous sprinkle abominations
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I have had the good fortune to eat most of my meals at Mount Holyoke in the company of my friend and roommate, known to the public as “Roommate.” Although Roommate is a kind-hearted human of a friendly nature, she also struggles with a rare and life-threatening health condition known as “Spinkleitis.” This debilitating condition has a massive effect on Roommate’s daily life, leading her to believe that every dessert she consumes needs to be covered in roughly five pounds of pill-shaped pieces of wax, which she calls “spinkles” [sic]. Though I worry about Roommate’s gut biome with the consumption of so many spinkles [sic], I am met with menacing glares whenever I try to voice my concerns. Alas, Spinkleitis claims another young life.
- “Iced” “tea”
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Having found myself in the coveted role of Party Host one unfortunate day, I thought that my guests would prefer nothing more than some delicious iced tea (Southerners, consider skipping to point five of this list to avoid stress-induced heart failure). As I was vehicle-less and on a rather restrictive budget, I decided to take matters into my own hands and concoct my own drink with some free Blanch tea bags rather than doling out the big bucks (all three of them) for that fancy Lipton powder. The result (five hours later)? A borrowed pitcher half full of orange-hued, fully water-flavored, room temperature leaf juice with a few tea bags floating around inside, waiting to sploosh into the cup of any brave drinker. My party guests were not thirsty.
- Frosting (and nothing more)
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Upon arriving back to my dorm one day, I was startled by the sight of a strange pink mound left on the top of my otherwise immaculate bookshelf. At first, I thought that perhaps some sick animal had given birth in my room and left its misshapen placenta behind. Then, I considered that someone may be trying to poison me, the far more likely possibility. At last, I deduced that the pink lump was in actuality a gift from my misguided friend, Publius. Poor Publius had wandered into my room, nibbling away at a slice of (vegan) raspberry chocolate cake from Blanch. After eating only the chocolate cake, however, Publius decided that they were feeling rather disinclined toward eating the raspberry frosting and left it as a gift for me on my desk in all its placenta-like glory. Publius had assumed that I would not be able to resist a good pile of frosting, and, well, they were right.
- A “little treat” of raw broccoli
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Though this snack is only the fifth-most weird that I have seen consumed at Mount Holyoke College, it served as the inspiration behind this article due to the sheer amount of shock I felt upon discovering it. One evening, my friend Publius and I were flopped on the floor of my room doing homework when a sudden bubbling growl drew Publius’ attention to their empty stomach. “Don’t worry,” they said sweetly, whipping out a reusable bowl from Blanch, “I brought a little treat.” Expecting a typical collegiate snack of deep fried something-or-other, or perhaps a Mega Brownie, I was floored when Publius ripped back the container’s lid to reveal a loose pile of raw broccoli. They bit into a stalk, gagging slightly, and added, “I just like it.” When I offered them a package of fruit snacks, they wiped a sheen of tears from their eyes and happily accepted.
- Wet and juicy M&Ms
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Roommate strikes yet again in this distressing lunchtime exposé. Constantly on the hunt for spinkles [sic] as a consequence of her Spinkleitis, Roommate can sometimes become erratic and confused when faced with an underfilled toppings station. Craving edible colors, she occasionally turns to an abhorrent Witchcraft — mixing together fruit and dessert. Though this behavior can only be attributed to Spinkleitis, as no sane student could even consider the combination of pineapple chunks and M&Ms, it is hard not to blame Roommate for her monstrous creations. Nevertheless, in her spinkle-less [sic] daze, she does seem to appreciate the taste and texture of her creations, and for that I can only be grateful.
- Cat Food
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While Blanch refers to this dish as “Cheesy Risotto” or some similar flapdoodle, I have come to find (through careful chemical analysis) that it is secretly nothing more than wet cat food. As a lover of real risotto after two carefully-planned trips to Italy, I was thrilled to find such a delectable-sounding dish on Blanch’s online menu one fateful morning. When I arrived at lunch, however, I was greeted by the sight of what looked, smelled, and tasted like expired Fancy Feast. Testing reveals that the substance is made up of fourteen percent liverwurst, twenty-three percent hairballs, forty-one percent mildew, and twenty-two percent crushed dreams. Zero percent is made up of risotto.
- A cacao pod
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I was gifted this massive and marvelous seed by a professor while enrolled in a cooking class. What exactly we were supposed to cook with this flora I do not know, since it all rotted away (leaving a shell for my friends to wear as a hat) before I could even conceive of an idea. Nevertheless, before the Great Rotting, I was able to carve out the inside of the pod and try the gelatinous seeds within. They were mostly flavorless; however, it is not every day that a Mount Holyoke student gets to slurp out the inside of a cacao pod and live to tell the tale.
- Last, but not least: Pepto Pizza
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As much as I mock my poor friends as they try to enjoy their favorite little snacks, I realize that, in truth, it is only a defense mechanism — for in fact, I am the culprit behind the weirdest food I have seen consumed at Mount Holyoke. My own creation, referred to as “Pepto Pizza” by my associates, was patented after a long day of coping with a horde of particularly turbulent butterflies (of the stomach variety). The spirits of Blanch had smiled down on me that evening, presenting me with my favorite “Caramelized Onion & Artichoke Pizza,” and I happily took a slice while knowing that it was entirely possible my pet butterflies would not allow me to enjoy it. Desperate to taste the soft, savory feta, sweet onions, and buttery artichokes, I begged a disc of Pepto-Bismol off a friend and squashed it deep into my pizza, effectively killing two birds with one stone. The repercussions were immediate. The chalky, minty flavor of the drugs mixed with the magnificent flavors of the pizza resulted in a foul-tasting, fizzy mess. Worse, my pet butterflies seemed to enjoy the reprehensible flavor palate my sacrilegious mind had produced and fluttered still more excitedly within my abused stomach. I shall take my misfortune as a sign to stop belittling my friends’ penchants for colored wax and raw broccoli — suddenly, I felt at home among my fellow weirdos.
