As college students, we’ve hit an age where we can buy ice
cream anytime we want. We’re allowed to subsist exclusively
on fast food and a menagerie of gummy animals ““ nobody will
stop us. This lifestyle is most second graders’ dream.
But now that we’re living it, it’s not as fun as it
looks. How did we get here?
Your roommate has been wondering the same thing.
As you amble into your apartment, you notice him standing at the
counter, surrounded by stacks of plastic sandwich bags. He seems to
be working intently on a one-man assembly line that involves bread,
deli meat, peanut butter, sliced cheese and a panoply of
condiments.
Your roommate says it’s gotten to the point where he
can’t stand to look a vending machine in its plate-glass
face. Having suddenly lost the gluttonous streak that had defined
so many years of his life, he doesn’t even know who he is
anymore.
To restore his lust for snack food (and his sense of self),
he’s decided to take drastic measures. While trying to
recreate the situation when he first discovered his love for
Cheetos, Doritos and all other members of the “-os”
food group, he’s decided to take on the same balanced diet
he’d suffered in elementary school, down to the lovingly
prepared brown-bag lunches his mother used to make.
And he’s concocting a month’s worth of sandwiches
all at the same time. Surprisingly enough, it’s almost a good
idea ““ sandwiches, as long as they don’t include
vegetables, freeze well for a few weeks.
“Here, I made one for you, too,” he says, holding
out a full paper bag with your name scribbled on it.
“It’s for tomorrow.”
Peering inside, you see three sandwiches ““ a peanut butter
and two tuna salads ““ and a Fruit Roll-Up. Nothing else.
“I forgot what else goes in a lunch,” your roommate
confesses. “And just one sandwich didn’t look like
enough.”
He remembers the Fruit Roll-Up because he used to trade it for
popularity. He advises you to share the one in your lunch bag with
that guy you like, the one who’s in your Thursday discussion
section. (The last time he tried this particular trick, the girl in
question let him go all the way to first base. He’s hoping
that now, a decade later, it’ll work at least as well.)
But what about the other elements? Your roommate has the entree
angle covered, although only one sandwich is really necessary. If
you get sick of sandwiches, you can just as easily substitute
hardboiled eggs, tortilla wraps, yogurt, cottage cheese with fruit
or any kind of leftovers.
Get your roommate to clear a few feet of counter space for you,
and get out a cutting board. You’re going to be in charge of
fruits and vegetables.
Wash some celery, cut it into sticks and pull out the veins. Put
dollops of peanut butter into plastic bags ““ you can dip the
sticks into it at lunchtime. Slice bell peppers into slabs and
smear them with cream cheese (but make sure to eat them within 24
hours, before they get soggy). Bag individual servings of baby
carrots and keep them in the refrigerator. Make a mental note to
buy more apples and oranges.
The last thing that’s missing is a drink. You can complete
the memory lane trip by going shopping for juice boxes, or maybe
just grab a water bottle.
Probably within a few days your roommate’s taste for junk
food will return, and he’ll start packing a five-dollar bill
in his brown paper bag. But it’s fun while it lasts.
Do you open Capri Sun pouches by stabbing the bottoms with
your straw? E-mail Raab at lraab@media.ucla.edu.