Pig in blanket, egg roll, tortellini, ratatouille, chicken quesadilla, cupcakes, cookies, wine

P. had warned me earlier, Don’t eat lunch! And for good reason–the chafing dishes went on for miles. I was filled with the warmth that only a buffet and bar style meal can give you, and was accused of being warm with liquor by my table mates. Not true! Just overflowing with seasonal joy! I think people also thought that I was making up my enthusiasm for the raffle. Also not true. When I won a prize, I nearly fainted dead away in my chair. I won a prize in the raffle!

 

Chicken, beef stroganoff, potatoes, vegetables, plus a buttered roll

I took a little bit of everything from the chafing dishes against the wall and took my plate in between L. and D. and ate a little bit of everything while the family talked around me like families do–taking turns, some very loud and often and others quiet, what do you do, what do they do, and the rest. It was the mix you get when everybody’s together. I had never been there before and who knows when I’ll be there again, so I did my best to take at least some of all of it in my mouth. This strategy meant I left things behind on my plate that I didn’t mean to and won’t again. I didn’t finish all of my potatoes. This is not my wont.

 

Mozzarella sandwich, green salad, potato salad, and a small black and white cookie

Nothing quite captures the thrill of a daylong ILS demo like a midday break for lunch buffet! The Dean sprang for a tray of sandwiches, dishes of potato and macaroni salad and coleslaw, a green salad with two different kinds of dressing, and a plate of cookies, half black and white and half chocolate chip. As everybody queued up, I ran to the bathroom and to get some more water and when I returned was in the back of the line. This being the first of what I hope will be many staff lunches, I tried to keep my cool: Leaned up against the wall, talked with S. about how whatever you used first tends to stay your favorite, pretended I wasn’t eagle-eyed on the last of the veggie sandwiches. Due to the vagaries of my scheduling, I sadly had to take my loaded-up plate and run down to the cloffice to eat while pulling my handouts together for the afternoon class. The roasted vegetables were too olive-oily, so I pulled those out and threw them away after I cleaned the rest of my plate.

 

Salami and cheese sandwich, twice

J. and I pulled up with just ten minutes of lunch to spare and were greeted by D.’s usual ample spread–two kinds of bread, two kinds of cheeses, turkey, ham and hard salami, apples and pears, mixed olives and mixed peppers and mixed nuts, tomatoes, two kinds of cookies, and Boston lettuce, which I love but never buy for myself and am always happy to see on the RT table. I dove right in and made a sandwich out of wheat bread and swallowed it, saying my hellos to everybody and answering questions about my new job and trying not to hear L.’s knocks on the library, though I suspect it has changed an awful lot since he was a Blackbird. The meeting was called to order but I was still hungry so I slapped together a second sandwich on the baguette and ate it at the table, sandwiched a little myself between F. and L., notebook and pencil in hand. It was nice to see everybody, though the political discussion was something of a downer. But I expected that.

 

Meat, salads, and potatoes

A new institution means new institutional catering! I signed in and picked up my name badge and folder and an inexplicable carnation with a hat pin that I never did get pinned right and took my seat in the Patron’s Lounge with the rest of the folks from the Brooklyn Campus New Faculty Van for the New Faculty Orientation Buffet: green salad and orzo salad, chafing dishes of string beans, rice, a stir-fry, ‘vegetable’ lasagna of the white-creamy-sauce variety, something they called London Broil, and red potatoes. I loaded up with salads and then picked up the tongs to grab some meat and potatoes, but the woman behind the table shot out her hand: I do that for you! I sat and ate and talked with the faculty on my right, a biologist and philosopher who both just nodded and smiled. My jokes (you had to be there, but trust me) were like loosed helium balloons, my gestures of fellowship (My brother’s a philosopher too!) like breath in winter. Then we watched that Michael Wesch video for my thousandth time and I got stuck like I always do: How does a 19 year old know what readings are relevant to her life?

 

Baked potato with cheese and salsa

Ever since they put up the signs promoting this show on the commuter rail I’ve harbored a secret, shameful crush on the leading man–sunglasses, stern jaw, swish Miami suit, spy, oh goodness gracious. I have no idea when this show is on, but added it to my DVR so was able to watch at least part of an episode over the baked potato I ate in lieu of lunch at the track. Belmont is not Saratoga, and I sure didn’t want to get stuck eating nothing but Sbarro and Carvel all day. Actually. The acting, shameful accents, and USA Network production values forced me to turn it off early–the thrill is already gone. I wished I had more fixins for my potato, but I sadly don’t live at the Boise Chuck-a-Rama.

 

Assorted vegetables of various preparation, a samosa, a piece of chicken, and some mac and cheese

D. and N. took me down to the Dekalb Farmer’s Market to look at fish and meat and fruit and vegetables and what appeared to be the bulk of the entire county shopping for groceries on a Saturday afternoon. We stopped first for lunch at the hot-n-cold food buffet where I enjoyed the eight dollar reduction in per-pound pricing from Wednesday’s lunch. I took a little bit of everything–spicy root vegetables, yellow cabbage, maple-glazed carrots, etc., finishing with a samosa at the very end of the line just to make sure I had enough to eat. We sat and ate at one of the tables in the back and talked about how nice it is sometimes to be with people you already know. I can just sit here and eat my lunch, said D. N. had a fried red mullet that left an alley-cat-style fish bone on his plate, something funny that we all saw at once.

 

Bean salad, green salad, corn salad, chicken slice, and tofu with hot sauce

It is a measure of my level of relaxation that I agreed–nay, suggested–that D. and I meet at this bar-style lunch spot on 18th Street. When I’ve been before I’ve freaked at the number of people and their lunch trays crowding out me and my tote bag at the deceptively expensive pay-what-you-weigh salad bar. But I slid right through with ease and no small amount of pleasure in the picking and choosing, piling my plate with neat little portions of what was on offer, a less tantalizing variety than usual, says D., due to the great vanishing that takes place among a certain class of New Yorkers in August. We weren’t the only ones–Eve Sedgwick was piling a plate as well, and D. gets extra-special-queer-credit for picking her out of the crowd. We ate at our little stainless steel table, talking about girls and work and family and our plans for the rest of the afternoon.

 

Mini croissant sandwiches, fruit salad, and sweets

The gang was all there, gathered around the periodicals processing table in the tech services office to enjoy the finest goodbye lunch spread I have seen in awhile: bagels and croissants, ham and cheese, fruit salad, lemon ice cookies, brownies, donuts, iced tea, lemonade, all arrayed around a vase of hydrangeas from M.’s own garden. S. said a few words and gave me the tshirt everyone gets when they leave and a card signed by everyone that was stuffed with a present and I was really very moved. G. is usually the one to kick off eating at these sorts of affairs, so I said my few words and then encouraged him to grab a plate while I grabbed mine, assembling a little ham and brie croissant-wich along with some fruit salad, a brownie, and a couple of mini-donuts. I used a reserves processing truck as a table and grazed away, going back for seconds, thirds, fourths, trying to ignore the fact that there won’t be many more afternoons like this, chattering away with MBWF, C., J., S., M., G., J., S., and the rest. I sure am going to miss everybody.

 

Veggie burger with cranberry couscous, potato salad, baked beans, plus two cookies

Due to the threat of severe weather, the all-staff picnic was moved indoors to the Pub. When severe weather failed to manifest, we decided to sit outside, and I agreed to hold down a table while MBWF, C., and S. went through the line and grabbed food. My entire chest thudded with anxiety while I waited: There is something about abundance that produces a sensation of scarcity. When it was my turn I snagged a veggie burger, a scoop of couscous, a scoop of potato salad, a cookie, and a scoop of baked beans. We ate and talked (K. had joined us by now), comparing this staff picnic to the last staff picnic, comparing first jobs and last jobs, comparing ketchup and mustard and who prefers what. The revelation that my refrigerator contains not one single condiment beyond the soy sauce I use in just the one single recipe drew gasps from the crowd. Then S. went back inside and grabbed herself a cookie, plus one for me and one for MBWF. We wondered: Is this why MBWF hired an assistant after all?