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Dining hall eggs are con­sis­tently tasty | Courtesy Wiki­media Commons

My argument is simple, and it comes from two years on the 19-a-week meal plan and hun­dreds of eggs-and-hash-browns break­fasts: con­sis­tency is key, and dining hall eggs are more con­sistent than most things in my life 

No, I am not a football player, or Jill’s son, or a Bon Appetit simp. I am an honest man who eats the same thing every day for breakfast and has grown to like it. Are the eggs chef quality, or fit for a five-star restaurant? No. But they’re con­sistent, they’re protein, they’re always there, and I always eat them. 

In a world with volatile markets, new carpets, and the Russia-Ukraine war, is it all that far-fetched that I’ve grown to appre­ciate a little con­sis­tency? Every morning I can expect the same thing: a gen­uinely friendly “good morning” from the saint at the front desk, a short line, an open booth, and eggs that deliver (at least some) nutrients every. single. time. 

Dining hall eggs are good because they attain their end. Also, don’t judge weekday eggs by the standard of weekend eggs — the yellow jello they serve on Sat­urday and Sunday has nothing on the slightly more tex­tured eggs that grace our plates the rest of the week, (unless it’s parent’s weekend, then they’re better than even Finish Line.)

A vis­iting pro­fessor once said that com­plaining about incon­se­quential matters is one of the most athe­istic things you can do, because it ignores the great blessings to be found in each day. It is my simple con­tention that you have better targets for grievance than mass-pro­duced eggs; bemoaning the eggs’ lack of poultry ancestry is a paltry complaint.

The under­cooked sausage on the other hand — now that’s a whole dif­ferent matter.