A few days ago, I was enjoying my fourth pre-noon Tandem Bagel when the person at the table next to me brought up a holiday that I had all but forgotten about: Valentine’s Day. For this young man, love (well, something) was definitely in the air. I stopped chewing so as to more effectively eavesdrop and realized that he was agonizing over where to take his ladylove for dinner on Friday night. His bagel was resting forgotten on its checkered paper wrapping (that’s how you know it’s serious) and he was gesturing wildly as he and his friend brainstormed what dining option would be the most likely to get him laid. Several were discussed: LDC, Burton, or Chapati. That’s right, apparently Carleton students have very limited options on the most romantic day of the year and, if you want to eat off of china plates instead of plastic, it seems as though Chapati is the number one choice. But then again, shouldn’t students think twice before taking their significant other (who they presumably want to get down with later on in the evening) to an Indian restaurant? It seems to me that the options that we Carls are presented with (if only we had a classier version of Sayles re: OleStore) go something like:
1. I will fart on your face later because, let’s face it, the dining halls tend to put the “gas” in “gassy.”
2. That asparagus looked so nice in the chafing dish but now my pee smells weird.
3. Thank you for a lovely dinner but now I have the meat sweats, it looks like I’m crying but really it’s just too spicy, and I might poop my pants before you get so much as a goodnight kiss.
4. I have a stomach of steel so congratulations, you might get lucky tonight.
The last time I went to Chapati, I ate until I had to unbutton my pants, walked home in tears because I was so full and it was so good, and then lay on my stomach trying not to vomit for the next two hours. It was so worth it, but definitely not nearly as romantic as it sounds (unless you want to spend your Valentine’s night wiping the sweat off of my brow and stopping me from finishing my leftovers just because I have no self restraint). Many a first date have I witnessed at the mecca of Northfield fine dining that is Chapati, but I always find myself wondering: what happens next? Did she crawl home through the snow? Did he poop his pants in the Archer House lobby? Did they take turns running to the bathroom while exchanging tender kisses and watching Ratatouille?
It’s one of Carleton’s many mysteries, the fate of the Chapati date. I hope you made your reservations early. And now, a few tastefully themed Haiku’s to go with whatever meal you’re planning on having tonight:
Sweet St. Valentine
Take your partner somewhere nice
They might cut the cheese
Sad Carleton students
Chapati or the potty
Table for one, please
My darling cherub,
Burton v. the LDC
Please don’t poop on me
What will I be doing? Well, that’s one secret I’ll never tell (just kidding, I plan on taking Buzzfeed’s “28 Sexy Brownies to Spend Valentine’s Day With” to heart).