Leave the fish to the cats

Sometimes I’m ok with not knowing what I’m eating. Most of the time I’d like to have an idea, but I don’t get picky about the details. This evening, I ate at a cheap-o student cafeteria with my friend Sarah (they have these cafeterias all over the city), and the dish-of-the-day was something of a fried-fish-circle. They looked like onion rings, so I got excited. Sarah went with the personal pizza, but I decided to be daring and go for the faux-o’s. The darling rings were tossed on a gigantic plate of green beans and garnished with a half-smirk from the server. I should have known to give the plate back after a smirk like that. I took my plate and went on the hunt for Sarah.

Finding a friend in a student cafeteria is this humiliating jostle between balancing the strange dish and sides on a tray in your hands, the backpack usually affixed to your back that mysteriously starts sliding down your shoulder, your jacket that is now suffocating and adjusting with the backpack at the same time, traffic of incoming and outgoing students, and navigating the layout. There are two giant support beams in the middle of the room that hide the two corners, and all the tables are communal. Walking up and down the cafeteria once is fine but a little nerve-wrecking, for one is juggling a lot all at once on this small commute from the line to the seat, but if one does not spot their friend after one tour of the room, the second is the walk of shame. A look of terror immediately takes hold of my face muscles, as if I’ve been stranded, and I become this frail mess standing in the middle of chaos. Ok, maybe it’s not that bad but I thought I was done with cafeterias in high school, it just brings me back to those beautifully insecure and awkward moments… I finally spotted Sarah. She was in the left corner behind one of the support beams, sitting with two other students (no affiliation). I sat down, eager to try this innocent looking main course.

Never, and I repeat, NEVER, eat anything that’s in the shape of an O, and has “fish” in the description.

That’s really all I’m going to say. Dessert was ruined after that, my water tasted funny for hours, and I could hardly choke down that mass of green beans that the fish-o’s so stylishly laid upon. That’s what you get for being a student in Paris and eating at cafeterias where the entire meal costs less than 3 euro. I’m often led astray by appearances, but I’ve completely evolved this evening and will never be eating something just because it looks like another thing I’m familiar with. I’d suggest following my lead.