Throw Some Wasabi on Life, CSI
By Jeremy L. Pasker
7:30 in the morning, last night’s toke aroma lingers in the air. Still, I resist my natural hippie urge to take a bong rip. Today needs to be productive. My alarm went off an hour ago but I’m not fully awake until I have a shower and my cup of Folgers.
While my roommates eat Kirkland bacon and sausages, I feign disinterest. Instead I munch down a faux bacon, leafy greens, tomato, cheddar, and scramble sandwich. Normally, I’d have oatmeal and a toasted peanut butter sandwich. But I left myself more time than usual that morning so I was able to show out. My mates weren’t going to mock me then eat better than me too.
On a full stomach, bacon and sausage has no pull over me. I grab a banana and granola bar on my way out, blocking out the omnivore scorn thrown my way. “I hope you don’t pass-out on your way to school.” “How was it eating grass for breakfast.” “I hope, haha, you don’t wither away on that rabbit diet of yours.”
Well, fuck them. Like Kendrick said “Love yourself.” I toss the leftover banana peel into the bushes and mulch as I turn the corner toward the S59 bus stop. Breakfast is never enough to hold me over past lunch, so I pick up a bag of peanuts and a Jazz apple on the way to campus.
If I have to head to the city though, on days that I eat light, I tend to buy a strawberry and kiwi fresh fruit smoothie with a B12 vitamin supplement because as a vegetarian my diet lacks B12, which meat eaters are swimming in.
The body stores plenty of reserves so don’t panic if you’re a vegetarian that hasn’t started buying trunk fulls of the stuff from Costco. But I digress.
CSI was made for dinosaurs, or Vikings, or Aztecs or kingdom of Kush assassins because very little sympathy/empathy/recourse is had for us vegetarians.
Let’s sidestep the cafeteria for a bit, which is its own form a vegetarian purgatory, and start with the book store.
The bookstore, besides the glorious amount of after-chronic foods like PB&J, Ben & Jerry’s pints, and an assortment of chips and candy (right on by the way, to whomever is responsible for that). But other than junk food, there isn’t much of food-food.
There is cereal in the bookstore also but that is just more pot food; there are cheese pizzas, none with vegetables though, so again, more pot food. The only vegetable soup they sell even has meat. Campbell’s seasons it with beef stock. The only thing remotely vegetarian (and simultaneously “healthy”) is the tomato soup. Good luck getting full off of that.
It’s 1:30 now, and like usual, I’m not about that tomato soup life, so the book store is no bueno. The cafeteria is my next bet unless I trek all the way up to Starbucks. By this time I’m desperate to fill my tummy. Milling the campus has worked up an appetite.
I walk through the 1C turnstiles, avoid the shifty cafeteria security guard (what’s his deal by the way; he always looks like a cagey shoplifter).
Here it gets interesting. I’m flooded with indecision. There’s the grill immediately to my right. I have several options here. Hot macaroni and cheese, fries, mashed potatoes, peas and carrots are all on display, conveyor belt style. Choosing to eat that would be fine but I head toward the back to the salad bar is instead; the poverty prices are more my style. Trust, the best deals are found at the veggie bar.
I like making a sandwich from the bar toppings instead of buying their $10 dollar salad. The toppings are either 50 or 75 cents. I usually get either garbanzo or kidneys beans, then Emeril Lagasse a bit of broccoli on that bitch, with grilled red or raw green peppers, topped off with onion.
If I’m feeling rebellious, I’ll throw on some olives as well. But rarely because olive’s flavor tends to overpower everything else on the sandwich. I do wish the cafeteria carried pickles. That’d be dope.
Dinner is always the roughest time away from home because I like to mix it up just like anyone who eats meat. It’d be boring if I ate the same thing over and over each day.
So the cafeteria is out if I had food there earlier in the day. This is when I hit up the take-out menus. Having a campus in the middle of the island is convenient at times like these. I pretty much have the pick of whatever cuisine that delivers.
Whether I have Italian with marinara, Chinese with garlic sauce, Taiwanese with peanut oil, Japanese with wasabi and soy sauce, Halal and falafel, or greek Gyros with sweet potato fries, the possibilities are incredible.
It’s 8:30 by now, and on a full stomach I head home after heavy edits at the Banner. Once again I smell the second hand ganja-babe; it’s like I never left. I turn down the inner bohemian telling me to toke. Instead I eat a toasted peanut butter and banana sandwich. Tomorrow needs to be productive too.