Green Key is not known for its tradition of culinary fare. It's not particularly known for much, actually, apart from drinking. Homecoming has a fire and football; Winter Carnival has skiing and snow; Tubestock had tubes and the chance of death; Green Key has beer and nice weather, but really only sometimes. But as I look back over my three Green Keys I can still, shockingly, remember the food that marked some poignant parts of the weekends. It's an apt way to relive and rehash my years at Dartmouth and end my ever-so -illustrious career as a fairly inconsequential Mirror food columnist who isn't even allowed to write about restaurants and is largely read by my parents. Hi Momma. Hi Daddy.
Let's start with the fact that when it's Green Key you do not have to use DDS. I repeat, money and/or DBA are not needed on Green Key. That is, as long as you are satisfied by hotdog buns and condiments. Why, I remember last Spring there was a barbeque outside of Sig Ep and KDE. It was for something. It had a purpose. But again, Green Key is not about purpose, so me not remembering the purpose is just keeping everything traditional. To tell the truth I did not know the purpose of the event when I came upon it, nor did I care. What I did care about was that it was sunny, I'd already played a game of pong, and I was not about to trek my way all the way back to our fair dining facilities to pay for a meal. Nor was I going to put an order in to some frat kid who thinks lighter fluid is something you should baste meat in (seriously guys, lay off and learn how to build a fire). So I improvised. I took a bun. I filled it with ketchup, mustard, relish and potato chips. I believe they were sour cream and onion but I could be mistaken; they could have been barbeque. It was delicious. It was free and it was fast. What more can you ask for?
I want to go back to that whole lighter fluid thing and relate another memory. It was of a Green Key night outside Psi Upsilon where they had some grilling going on as they are wont to do during such party weekends. Again, I didn't want to wait for meat to cook but I wanted more than condiments (it was late). I wanted a grilled cheese. So I slapped some fake cheese on a hamburger bun and snuck it onto the grill. You have to be independent about these things. It's every man for himself in these situations. After a few impatient minutes the sandwich was done. I took an eager bite and tasted not the gooey, warm, salty sandwich that I had expected. It was a taste that I had never tasted before, but I had smelt it. It was lighter fluid. Pure lighter fluid. I could barely taste the bread. I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty sure I still ate at least half of it. I was hungry, okay? All I'd had to eat all that day was probably ketchup sandwiches and beer.
Let's jump to a tasty food memory because I need to stop imagining that lighter fluid taste. It's still all too vivid in my mind. Let's go to pig roast. I know, I know, Theta Delt has it every party weekend but it's still an important thing to discuss. First of all pig roast is not just a pleasant outdoor picnic and grill. It's grown men and women ripping at the exceedingly hot corpse of a pig that just came off the grill, still completely intact. It is Ivy League students burning their fingers and pushing through their colleagues just to rip off some fatty flesh and dip it into the special sauce, which I'm pretty certain is just a combination of ketchup and barbeque sauce, thought that doesn't explain the lumps. It's a barbaric event and that's why I love it. I have always been a fan of working for my food and eating with my hands. I come out of pig roast burned and bruised with singed taste buds. I also leave with a sense of pride, knowing that I would have totally made it back in the Stone Age. You know who wouldn't? Those girls who daintily eat only some grilled bread with a napkin in hand and then proceed to go to food court to get a healthy salad. They would have totally been weeded out either by natural selection or a saber-toothed tiger.
I'll close with the morning after meal of Green Key. Bagels, Boones and beer. Or, in some houses, Mimosas and Bloody Marys. It's a hearty meal with some nice beverages to take the edge off. We should all be so lucky to start more days out like that. Boones is practically juice anyway. And one bagel equals more than an entire day's worth of carbohydrates. I know, New Yorkers, I know. Bagel Basement bagels aren't real bagels. They're knock-offs. But they're a darn sight better than most bagels you get in this part of the country. Plus they come in all those fun flavors like the one with cinnamon and sugar on it (how unhealthy can you get?) or that one bagel that's just topped with rock salt. It's like a salt lick with some bread under it! Also, once stale the bagel makes a fine chew toy for the house dog or the college kid who just wants something to gnaw on. I'll end on that image. Have a good Green Key, friends who read this article, I'll see you out there. Mom and Dad, I'll call you Sunday.
