How to Subsist on Campus Foliage to Avoid the Bon

A student snacks on natural greens with a friendly forest critter. Illustration by Cayden Bullock.

The Backdoor is a work of fiction and humor.

COLLEGE CUISINE has a well-deserved reputation. Despite charging exorbitant tuition rates that skyrocket each semester, most universities still peddle the cheap Sodexo slop plaguing high schools across America. It’s understandable, then, that many prospective students are enchanted by their first trip to the Fields Dining Room. With alternative eating options and locally-sourced ingredients, Bon Appétit provides Lewis & Clark with the best food a school can get. Which is a shame, since it still gives me the runs every time I eat it.

I have dined at the Bon at least three times a week for the past three years and complained about it every time. Let me be clear — the point of this article is not to slander the student-operated eating establishments on our campus. This publication would never sign off on a hit piece like that. But the fact remains that many LC students do not receive the nourishment they require from Bon food. If you are one of these malnutritioned campus dwellers, fear not. The answer to your supping sorrows is just outside your window.

At this year’s spring Student Activities fair, Ripple Mycologuy ’20 debuted her Pioneer Forager’s Association, a group dedicated to plundering LC’s natural resources for nutrients the Bon lacks.

“Yeah, pretty stoked on this one,” Mycologuy said. “So many people here don’t appreciate the bounty Mother Gaia has bestowed on us.”

Mycologuy proceeded to fish a blackberry out of her white dreadlocks and popped it into her mouth.

Mycologuy started foraging on a Sunday in October of her sophomore year, when she and her friends realized it was impossible to get food on campus until 11 a.m.

“Ever since that first experience living off the land, I knew this was something I needed to do,” Mycologuy said. “We all felt so connected to the earth after we finished our first mushrooms. Except for Doug. His were poisonous. But we did bury him in the ravine, so I guess he’s more connected to the earth than any of us.”

Though Mycologuy’s organization provides a valuable resource to LC students interested in Portland’s environment, the community’s reaction has been mixed. Associate Director of Health and Wellness Marissa Lachland cautioned students against consuming strange plants in her monthly email, while maintenance crews have complained about a putrid cloud of body odor permeating the club’s Howard meeting space. However, the majority of students seem indifferent to the Pioneer Forager’s Association’s presence.

“I mean, I guess that’s cool,” Gabe Palmquist ’19 said. “But we haven’t really been a hippy school for, like, five years. They’d probably reach more people with a Goodwill Bin Foragers club or something.”

As of press time, Bon Appétit has issued no official statement regarding Mycologuy’s club. However, a Bon employee Stream Ravine was overheard vehemently denying his association with the organization while swiping IDs in the Trail Room.

“My loyalty lies with my employers, regardless of my name,” Ravine said. “Please stop asking me about this.”

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