When I was in high school, I highlighted quotes in my quote books. Yeah, I had quote books. One of my favorites came from Clifton Fadiman (I have no idea who he is): "Cheese - milk's leap toward immortality." Upon first glance, I giggled. This was before I realized that Fadiman might share something with me. We both glorify food. Though I like all food, there is one savory food genre that I'll always place on a pedestal: Chinese food.
There is good Chinese food and there is bad Chinese food. Bad Chinese food tastes a lot like grease. Good Chinese food is found in restaurants down side streets of Chinatown in New York City. Good Chinese food lingers in my mind like Fadiman's cheese. Unfortunately, bad Chinese food is more convenient.
The only local Chinese food I ate first semester was when I had undiagnosed swine flu - the story I'm sticking to because it sounds cooler than "when I had a really bad cold" - so for the past few months, I have been avoiding anything related to General or Tso. Meanwhile, my sister raved about gorging on massive amounts of chicken, broccoli, fried rice and egg rolls in her dorm with her roommate.
I heard people on sidewalks talking about "ordering Chinese." With each day, I felt less collegiate as more people indulged in their very own warm, greasy white boxes and brown bags oozing with egg drop soup spillage and vegetable roll innards until finally I couldn't take it anymore.
This weekend, I pushed my swine-infested memories aside and ordered food from Asian Express.
Saturday was a beautiful day. People on the Lawn with their not-so-subtle water bottles and people on Rugby with their not-so-subtle beer cans lured me into the wonders of day parties. Armed with sunglasses and a ping pong ball, I danced around for several hours in the sun. Dancing excessively in the sun typically leads to two things: sleep and hunger.
The latter got to me first. If you're really lucky, you'll dance into some tall, dark and handsome stranger, and he'll at least take you to the Corner for a meal at a table.
Otherwise, you'll put on an expression half-doe eyes, half-determined grimace, and ease all the way up the stairs of a beer-soaked fraternity house and plop down half-doe eyed, half-determinedly on a couch and ask if anyone else is hungry. There will be slow nods. The nodders will get distracted, so you can't give up. Repeat how hungry you are.
This weekend, while repeating "hungry," I was inspired by the perhaps surprisingly ideal situation for not-so-good Chinese food. What better place to eat Chinese than half on a couch, half on the floor of a frat house? My sister - forever my partner in all things worth completing efficiently - logged on to the nearest laptop and soon had several online orders lined up for Asian Express. I could satisfy my hungry without even picking up the phone. Smiling, I leaned back on the couch and happily waited for my not-so-good food.
Chicken cashew with fried rice. I thought all fried rice had some hint of vegetables, maybe a speck of a carrot or a pea or two. Ah, but this fried rice was different. It was simply fried. I'm pretty positive the chicken was chicken, and the cashews were neither walnuts nor pecans, so they were probably accurately named, as well. I ate quickly and closed my eyes when finished. Of course, I wanted more. Even not-so-good Chinese food will do that to you.
Unlike my sister and all the giggling students on Grounds I had envied for months, I did not eat massive amounts of Chinese food with my roommate. I did not curl up in my pajamas and watch "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" on my laptop while waving happily at girls from my hall that came in to have a nibble of my irresistible oriental cuisine. I ate in front of a large television that may have been playing "Planet Earth." My dining partners did not giggle. They didn't really talk. But I know they enjoyed that Chinese food just as much as I did. Grabbing at others' white boxes, I figured the satisfying juices of anything General or Tso was as glorious as immortal cheese. And I felt pretty damn collegiate.
Connelly's column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at c.hardaway@cavalierdaily.com
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