Note: This was written last night, Jan 16. See "Addendum" for more.
Tonight, my friends, was a big night in the progression of my study abroad experience. After days of eating peanut butter, random fruits, and cheap cold cuts at every meal, tonight, I made my very first hot meal of the semester. All of you stupid makeshift chefs studying in Rome are probably laughing reading this - yes, I've seen the pictures of your gourmet nonsense and yes, I hate you - but so far, I have far from mastered the concept of a nice, warm dinner. Deli meats and my trusty frozen loaf of bread have been my steadfast companions in my elementary attempts at culinary self-sufficiency; the warmest food I've made for myself before this evening was toast. Tonight, though, I ventured into all-new cooking territory: the microwave. I mastered our microwave's largely incomprehensible system of Auto modes and compulsory weight measures (which, yes, were in grams) and created, in a mere 90 seconds, the most perfect bowl of Uncle Ben's Express Rice you ever did see.
Yes, readers, my idea of a high-complexity, high-class hot meal in the UK is minute rice named for a fictional freeman of the turn-of-the-century United States South.
As the semester goes on, I intend to make more complicated forays into the world of Cooking for One, but after a week of making myself nothing but sandwiches and Nutella wraps, this minute rice was a pretty big deal. I even spiced it up a little from the pre-made original by adding some cheese to my artificially chicken-flavored yet "Suitable for Vegetarians!" rice. CRAZY; I know. I put my bowl on a larger plate with two selections from my random fruit collection and poured the last of my "Innocent" brand apple juice (which I'm pretty sure is marketed largely for five-year-olds), and let me tell you, I was feelin' like one classy lady. For dessert, I followed my hot meal with more hot food, in the form of Nutella on somewhat-burnt toast. In the words of the insufferable Rachael Ray, "Yum-O AND delish!"
Meanwhile, when not concocting my latest gourmet meal, I have been preoccupied with the London Program students' other attempts at sophistication: sophistication through fashion. In the pre-departure meetings we had throughout fall semester, our program leaders frequently reminded us that the standard for dress in a chic European city like London is higher than it is on campus at ND. From what I've observed of most Londoners, this warning has rung fairly true. On the whole, people here are typically well dressed. The sweatpants and T-shirts that are acceptable on campus would, as our program directors warned us, be laughably inappropriate to wear out in public around Central London. None of this is false. Their advice was not bad.
The gentlemen of our program, however, have taken these tips on snappy dressing a bit too far. Any of you boys reading this, don't be offended or anything, but, like...seriously pay attention. When our program directors say that Londoners dress up more on a daily basis than we typically do, they're right. In the UK, I have finally found a society where it's not weird that I'm practically allergic to wearing sweatpants outside of my home. But what they primarily mean by "dress up" is "dress better." The people of London do not have a higher standard of dress because they wear formalwear to class every day. They simply wear more fashionable casual clothes. And boys of the London Program, you have not exactly mastered this distinction. Don't get me wrong, gentlemen; you look nice. Really! Khakis and sweaters, though, are not what they meant when they told you to dress up. You all look great for church, or for a day of work at your job as a middle school English teacher. Ready to blend in for a day of class as a student in Europe, however, you are not. It's really very admirable that you're trying so hard, but take a look around you on your next walk to class. Do some shopping anywhere in London. Match your European competition, not your own standards of "dressing up."
Oh, and props to the few guys who have decided adamantly to ignore all suggestions on dress and continue to wear BrO'Neill hoodies and Nikes every day. You are some bold gentlemen. Have fun having all your stuff stolen by pickpockets who've found their easy American targets.
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ADDENDUM: Last night, when writing this post, I abandoned it mid-paragraph when I first started to hear of the Manti news. Shortly thereafter, in what I first thought was an extreme physio-emotional (made that word up, go with it) reaction to the news, I began to feel very ill. I eventually was forced into the realization that my fancy-schmancy hot rice dinner had given me food poisoning. I am not even kidding. The odds of me getting food poisoning the first time I make myself hot food are about the same as the odds of me getting a face-to-face meeting with the Queen tomorrow afternoon, so naturally, it happened. I blame Lennay "I'm Not Real" Kekua for this. Back to deli meats and peanut butter I go. Let's all forget yesterday happened.
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