In general I like the selection of food at Dartmouth. I often find myself eating better in Hanover than I would at home. My culinary background is outstandingly mediocre. We don't cook much in my home. I admit, we have two microwaves that get more use than our oversized post-modern fridge and our deluxe oven. We do grill often, but usually the season to grill is limited.
Despite my inability to cook, I do enjoy eating. From the days of my youth, where I am told I was a legend in my Olympic ability to lick an entire ice cream cone without it melting all over my fingers, to my more recent days, where I have been known to conjure up meals even the best chefs couldn't create, I have found pleasure in food. Thus, my days in Hanover (although slowly dwindling) have left me with a new appreciation for certain foods. And my time in Hanover has also endowed me with a certain appreciation for the foods that I miss most while living in the Upper Valley.
In the course of four years I've learned to like Tofu and hummus, red pepper relish and vegan vegetarian soup, and I eat them often. But sometimes I feel like sinking my teeth into a sky-high corned beef sandwich (excess fat trimmed, of course!), laden with deli mustard and chopped liver on seedless rye bread with unlimited supplies of sour pickles and sour tomatoes on a side plate. I love pickles so much that I could go into a restaurant and order a dish of pickles and feel perfectly satisfied. Normally when at my deli of choice, The Stage Deli in Manhattan, I eat four or five big sour pickles. Of course the best way to curb the high salt content in pickles is to down a can or two of Dr. Brown's cherry soda. Sometimes, though, I opt for the cream soda if I am craving something sweet.
Then, for dessert (not that I ever have much room after crunching on half a dozen pickles), I indulge in an oversized slice of cheesecake and a black and white cookie. The cookie dates back to a time when my grandparents bought me "black and whites" as they called them, always wrapped perfectly in wax paper with little bits of icing melted onto the small white rectangular bakery boxes that are tied with a little red string that needed severing by some adult.
I know that I may be in a minority of students who miss authentic deli foods while being educated in New Hampshire. I realize that there are many students who share similar passions for foods, just not deli items. That's fine. To each her own. But for those students who crave deli as much I do, I want you to know that I understand where you are coming from. I feel your pain.
For four years I've been dying for a N.Y. bagel, not some imitation one from the Bagel Basement that thinks it's a bagel just because it's round and has a hole. I want a bona fide, genuine, H+H bagel. What I wouldn't do to wake up on a Sunday morning with a copy of The Times and a N.Y. bagel, hold the lox please.
No offense, New England, you've got great pure water, love the maple syrup and goat cheese, but you still need some practice in the deli department. Oh, and please pass the pickles!
