Biola University First Year Student Journals

The People of Breakfast: Food for Place

December 1, 2005 | 5 comments

Noon. Lines. Crowds. Three hundred voracious humans bustle and jostle politely in an intelligently designed building housing Biola University's cafeteria. A well-chosen color scheme of off-white and mahogany facilitates feelings of relaxation and hunger. The café offers an elegance characterized by sleek, stainless steel countertops and cream-colored trays that hide in cubbyholes built into the walls. Standing amidst this enormous crowd, one is unprepared to decide immediately what to eat. Mongolian barbecued chicken with brown rice and steamed vegetables, or salted salmon and orange-colored cheddar cheese pizza, or charred roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy. Despite overwhelming first impressions, an updated opinion is usually adapted after one is accustomed to the new environment.

Morning. Quiet. Promising. Stillness waits patiently, longingly for humans to take up the empty spaces. The pale light streaming through a glass window forms dramatic shadows on a white wall. In the morning, you are primarily greeted by the faint smell of eggs and toast, bacon and jam, watermelon, and refrigerated grapefruit halves; I come for the fruit. A group of swimmers speak about being in junior high. The conversation ebbs as I chew on a piece of flavorless cantaloupe. Words echo in and out of my mind which wanders around the room. Initially, I did not come here for conversation. In fact, mornings are one of the few times that peace is encountered naturally. Without the worries of another day weighing on your shoulders, you are free to enjoy the moments before schoolwork and real work take dominance. Hunched over, a man talks on his cell phone without moving, mumbling inaudible words to an unknown caller. The swimmers with their wet hair and baggy sweatshirts are gone by the time I begin working on the yogurt. Slowly, with surgeon-like precision, I surrender my ears to the sounds of ice machines, like little pebbles being thrown into a plastic bucket, ventilation ducts spewing out recycled air, and my friend, Katherine, talking to me.

Even though my primary impression of this place was one of chaos, these mornings I find myself at peace. An updated stance has been adopted. My stance is one involving lazy mornings, being fully awake by seven, meditating in a new, deeply felt way (through a close examination of the contents of my tray), being ready for quiet conversations with committed friends, and preparing to face another long drawn day. In this way, I am preparing my mind and heart to face potentially difficult relationships and classes.

In contrast, by the time the café reopens for noonday meal, a transformation takes place. No longer are the empty seats so inviting, no longer does the recycled air smell fresh, no longer are there smiles of sleepy faces peeking from under their books. Upon reentrance, muted conversations transform to shouting matches, enjoyment of food becomes the amount of time taken for inhalation (this is, of course, just my bent). There are those who run against this current trend. These are the breakfast people. Swimmers and writers, philosophers and directors, future missionaries, morning people, hungry people. Within this crowd I have found a safe place where people are not trying to impress, where it is acceptable to eat alone and not feel alienated, where one finds anonymity and companionship in the same space. Home.

Journal Entries

• The Reality of Growth
• Apple Bowling
• The People of Breakfast: Food for Place
• Where To Go
• A Method to Student Filming Madness
• My GYRAD With Amy
• Roadtripping to Seattle

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