Amy Potter: One failed last chance for Penn dining halls

It's easy to amass a weaponry of vicious stories about the dining halls at Penn. In fact, during my freshman year, it was difficult not to wind up with a few tales of horror from the depths of Stouffer.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, Stouffer Dining Hall serviced the residents of the Quad up until its closure in 2001 -- after Dining Services' losses became too great and Penn was forced to cut back.

Stouffer was less than charming. It was a cramped space with poor seating, tasteless food and grumpy staffers.

But that's fine, all things considered, for a freshman year dining experience --it was fine until the cockroach infiltration, at least.

One day, a cockroach dropped from the ceiling and into my hallmate's salad as she added dressing. At that point, we became determined to move off campus and to never return to the dining halls again.

Periodically, though, I find myself daydreaming of a meal plan. There are times when I'm not carrying any cash and wish I could just swipe my PennCard for a good meal.

Those pangs for a functional food system happen when the line for a salad at Cosi is unbearably long. It happens when I'm perusing the displays of the Freshgrocer for only the 12th time that week. It happens when I'm craving a basic and healthy meal -- not one comprised solely of pizza and french fries.

The reason I have not had a meal plan since my freshman year is because what Penn offers just isn't appealing -- it wasn't three years ago and, unfortunately, it still isn't today.

Since Aramark took over Dining Services in the summer of 2001, changes have been made. The "Real Food at Penn" area in the bottom of 1920 Commons has made cheap, decent fast food readily available to the campus -- a good first step. But although some undergraduates (and a lot of my co-editors) can survive on Chick-fil-A sandwiches and fries alone, there are those fools out there who like their veggies.

For two nights last week, the dining halls attempted to entice upperclassmen back to meal plans. All students that at one point had a meal plan at Penn and then dropped it were given one free meal at a dining hall.

The University's hope, I'm sure, was to convince wayward upperclassmen that campus dining had -- for once -- actually changed. By giving away a free meal, the intention was to get a few dollars back in the form of new contracts.

My roommates and I decided to take advantage. After all, who are we to turn down a free meal? And maybe, just maybe, we would be pleasantly surprised by a revamped 1920 Commons. If nothing else, we reasoned, we could steal much-needed forks, knives and spoons for our house.

I was optimistic, though. I'd heard rumors of professional chefs making guest appearance for "food demonstrations" and the opening of a burrito station. I wasn't going to count the dining halls out before I gave them one last shot.

Tragically, the experience wasn't worth the walk. To be honest, the night was entirely comical.

The fun started the moment I walked in the door and found myself squashed between a pack of students on the left and the salad bar on the right, which wouldn't have been all that bad had there been plates.

I squeezed out of the traffic jam and headed towards the drink and cereal stations that flank the main dish lines. Alas, no plates.

I deemed the pale and generic burritos unworthy of the half hour line that it took to get them. I glanced at the pizza, the french fries and the main course, but was thwarted again by long lines and poor presentation. The selections looked less than appetizing.

I returned to my roommates, who were balancing their respective trays, backpacks and drinks while aggressively searching for a table. We were ousted several times by others waiting -- they clearly knew what they were doing and had figured out how to secure a table while collecting food.

We finally snagged a booth in a dimly lit corner facing Locust Walk. I sat down and surveyed the food in front of me. After wandering around the dining hall for over 20 minutes, I had managed to collect two glasses of Sierra Mist and a cup of Corn Pops. (I had to eat something that didn't require a fork, seeing as there were none to be found.)

Due to a lack of bowls, I ate my cereal out of a cup. I dared to go back for ice cream, which was, by far, the highlight of the night. If only the line hadn't taken 20 minutes, then dessert might have been an all-around positive experience.

Dining Services had its chance to win us back. They blew it. I understand that the dining halls were likely inundated those nights by upperclassmen looking for a free meal, but if Penn Dining is serious about getting students to re-sign contracts, they need to put in the effort.

For now, I'll just have to be content with our new stock of spoons, courtesy of Penn Dining.

Amy Potter is a senior World History major from Albuquerque, N.M. and executive editor of The Daily Pennsylvanian.

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