Ye Old Kitchen

I work as a student cook in one of BYU's cafeterias. Last week, they moved out of their old facilities into a brand new building. Feeling slightly nostalgic, and like it should be documented, I brought my camera to work and took pictures between preparing the last ever meal served in the fifty-year-old Cannon Center.
There were four of these big walk-in lockers--one for dairy, eggs, and milk; one for fresh fruits and vegetables; one freezer; and one for leftovers, cheese, and meat.


I was excited to see all the crazy equipment in an industrial kitchen. To the far left are the steamer ovens (which scare me--stuff comes out not just hot but wet, too). One of my first days, I asked what the other things were called, and the woman just shrugged. "Pots," she said. I could fit inside them; they boil water really fast. People would get up on a stool to stir the thing to the right of the photo, and stir using this huge metal spatula-looking thing, making them look like a witch over a cauldron.


Baskets for serving bread and pass-through warmers for transferring the food to the serving lines.
A better view of a pot.

Spices. Today, in the new Cannon Commons, we were missing some ingredients (including parsley), and someone told me to go to the old building to see if I could find them there. I walked in--the lights were off, it smelled a little rotten. There was still a case of tomatoes on the floor, and some brown bananas. I went into the dry storage room--which felt a little like a scene from Wall-E. Things were mostly cleared out, but there were some bottles and jars of things left behind on the shelves. Alone in the big, empty building, I picked over the leftovers. I never did find parsley. Who runs out of parsley?

(When I got back to the new building and told one of the chefs that I couldn't find it, he said, "That's okay, parsley doesn't taste like anything anyway. Maybe like weeds. Wait--not like weed, I mean like weeds.")


The dish room.

A great big scale in the bakery. The new building doesn't have one--there will be a central BYU bakery instead.

Bakery.
Where I spent a lot of time making hashbrowns and scrambled eggs on the grills and bacon in the ovens (in the back of the picture, by the red garbage can). There's salt on the floor because it got greasy and slippery.

Paul never spoke gibberish

I have a class on Medieval manuscripts this term. I am sitting in the basement of the library working on one of the assignments for the class, designed foster appreciation for how said manuscripts all had little differences (as all were copied by hand), so modern publications ("critical editions") of the stories and texts they hold have to carefully consider each version. The assignment? Look at 15 versions of the Bible and create my own critical edition (of a chapter, not of a whole Bible).

I have probably taken the assignment too far, but the more I find out, the more fascinated I am. At this point I could probably tell you more than you ever wanted to know about the early English translations (I'm no expert...but like I said, I think I've taken things too far).

I was searching for more background on the King James Version (a revision of the Great Bible, based largely on Tyndale's [or Tindale's] translation, which in turn was based on Luther's German translation, Erasmus' Latin translation, and Greek) when I found that, in its original introduction, the self-described "Translators of the Bible" give a layman's explanation of translation. "There were 5 languages to the Greeks, all the rest were tongues," they explain. "This was not gibberish but people speaking their own minor dialect where everyone believed that their own tongue was sacred and must be used for liturgical purposes. Paul never spoke gibberish."

Thank you, translators.

They later write about "the Grecians being desirous of learning," and how they "were not wont to suffer books of worth to lie moulding in Kings' libraries."

Shopping Revelations

Today I was working on an assignment in the library. I was on a computer in Periodicals, and had to move to be by the books I needed access to. I sat down at the new computer, and when I touched it, noticed instantly how dirty it was. (Isn't that on the list of jobs for custodial workers? Clean the keyboards? And door knobs? I really don't think it is.) I then picked up the mouse and wiped it off on my shirt.

I wiped off the mouse.

This evening, I went to buy some groceries. I was at the self checkout, filling my reusable bags with my groceries, when an item wouldn't scan. An employee came over to help. "Are those the organic granny smith apples?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, as a an image of what I just might be becoming flashed through my mind--a fussy Niles Crane type who carries a handkerchief to wipe off computer mouses and who won't touch disposable plastics. Have I mentioned that I carry a fork and spoon with me so that I don't have to throw away plasticware? And what kind of a person buys organic granny smith apples, each individually banded with a skinny label that might as well read, "I Think I'm Better Than You"?

In my defense, they were only ten cents more per pound. And I did buy the cheap bread. Even though one of the ingredients was corn syrup.

The District. Of Colombia.

A couple weeks ago, I went to visit my friend Caroline in Washington, DC. Caroline and I met in Mrs. Thackery's kindergarten class. Now she goes to George Washington University. Except this summer she's working for GW housing and being a high-powered intern (seriously, I saw her on the job) and a Texas representative's office.

And that's where she was the first day I was there. I went to go visit her (after a slight detour caused by not reading the name of the metro stop I was getting off at). We tried to jump ahead of the line so Caroline could give me a tour of the capitol, but even the VIP badge that someone in her office came up with didn't cut it. I think they would have let us in if were both ten years older and dressed in power suits. I decided I don't want to be a congressional aid. Ever. Then I went to kick it at the Supreme Court for awhile, and took this elevator picture. No justice sightings.



That night we met up with Caroline's interior-design-major friend and ate Indian food under a lovely pavilion on the GW campus.

Caroline tripped twice that day--the first time in front of some important representative. The second time, she skinned her knee (through her pants). She shows her wounds.


Indian food under the pavilion was followed by 7-11 Ben and Jerry's ice cream and watching The Princess Bride in Caroline's apartment.

The next day, Saturday, we hit the Newseum. This is part of their exhibit on the Sept. 11 coverage.

While we were there, Caroline got a phone call from the university informing her she had two new roommates. Moving in. Right now. She was more than a little surprised.

We headed back, but stopped to watch skateboarders. Caroline pointed out that then never actually land tricks. To be fair, we saw a few good landings. At least three.


I ran to Trader Joe's for picnic items and cooked them up while Caroline tried to make space for the new roommates. We packed up the picnic and headed to Wolf Trap--an outdoor theater--to watch The Gondoliers. The picnic was wonderful. Chicken and sun dried tomato bratwursts on wheat rolls with caramelized onions and hummus; zucchini; cherry tomatoes; various sweet things.
It started raining shortly after intermission. We had lawn seats and taken the shuttle up, so we couldn't keep watching and we couldn't leave. We ran for cover under an overhang of the main building and chatted for the rest of the show. After that, Caroline introduced me to the first Bourne movie (which lived up to her high praise).

Sunday we went to church. Harry Reid is in the same ward. I felt like that should be in a guide book: "See representative Harry Reid at church! Sunday at 10:00...." It would certainly be an off-the-beaten-track tourist destination.