Self catered is for suckers
You grab the tray, let the dinner ladies do the rest
Who wants to cook for themselves? No one.
Wouldn’t you rather pick out your daily fare based on which dinner has the most comedy value, or smells the least like armpit? Yes, you would.
The anticipation of dinner time at Carnatic and Greenbank, (Vine Court barely counts, you pay £180 a week for that fancy stuff) is an experience you’ll never forget.
Bond with your mates over who’s picked the most disgusting slop. Experiment by putting salad dressing on your chips. Take a chance with the feisty dinner ladies and get back in line for round two, but then go back to halls and order Carlito’s anyway just because you’re feeling kind of sad the coleslaw on your chicken burger made the bun soggy.
There’s a true sense of community at mealtimes – people really do bond in a crisis.
Hark back to the wartime spirit: by March you might be contemplating digging a victory garden next to your window, but it doesn’t matter because you will have made some great mates in the process.
Instead, the kitchen can forego its purpose to become a social space and room for fun and creative activities (until the cleaner gets pissed off anyway).
In first year the last thing on your mind should be the extortionate price of canned tuna or how to keep to your micro-nutrient quota. You’ll be doing enough vomiting as it is without the added fear that you didn’t properly defrost a chicken breast.
Self-catered students will start the year with that inevitable plucky enthusiasm and self-belief that comes with the purchase of a student cookbook and a spatula, but as soon as you’ve got any real work to do you’ll realise fending for yourself is boring and difficult, and weekly slogs to Tesco are a massive hassle.
Catered halls will provide you with the basic stodge and vitamins you need to make it through the year without faffing around trying to figure out how to use the unnecessarily high-tech tin opener your mum got you.
The canteen will always be there in times of trouble with the warm embrace that only questionable crusty lasagne and good pals to can give.
What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. This is no different.