by Grace Pappadellis ’29 on September 18, 2025
Campus
Growing up, my mother only partially peeled the potatoes before mashing them, mixing garlic, velvety butter, and countless aromatic herbs into a big silver pot. My father grilled salmon and steaks, leaving the edges crispy for me because he knew I liked it that way. Broccoli, brussels sprouts, caesar salad with homemade dressing, thick, toasted garlic bread, and heaping spoonfuls of decadent gravy. These are all foods familiar to me, foods I adore to this day—yet upon my arrival to college, I realized I’ve taken them for granted.
My connection to food is one that I directly relate to my family. I grew up with the privilege of fresh food, home-cooked meals, and parents who had the freedom to cook whatever they wanted for my brother and me. Coming home from school, practice, or even a long day, I knew I would have a warm, inviting meal waiting for me on the table.
Arriving at college, I knew I would be homesick, as I was always close with my family and there were plenty of aspects of home worth longing for. I had been looking forward to college for what felt like my entire life. I was thrilled to meet new people, learn new things, and create my own routine. My mother and I consistently kept in touch, and her reports of family dinners made me miss home even more. As my mother described the baked sweet potatoes lathered in butter, tender slices of grilled chicken, and piles of steamed vegetables, my mouth watered and my heart ached for home.
One night, soon after move-in, my roommate and I, both food-lovers, took a trip to Ray Dining Hall. We were hoping to find some sort of replication of home. We filled our plates with every type of food you could imagine, all at our fingertips. To our surprise, we enjoyed all of it. The chicken, the quesadillas, the burrito bowls, the pasta—each day, a new flavor adventure filled with excitement before every lunch and dinner. Ray Dining Hall quickly became our meeting spot, a place for laughs, deep conversations, and much-needed quality time. All of our friends gathered, tried new foods, shared stories, and soon, we had our own family dinners.
No matter what food you are eating, food is nourishment, it is enjoyment, it is comfort. Food is warmth, memories, and revitalization. Food is more than just something you can taste. You feel the food, you crave flavors, your favorite flavors, and when you eat that food, suddenly you’re satiated. You are nurtured and sustained.
I urge you to try new foods, do laps around Ray, and find all your favorites. Fill your plate, even if you don’t finish all of it. Find your piece of home, even if it is not food-related. Now, although my friends and I are a mere two weeks into the semester, we find ourselves enjoying Ray food and, as much as possible, setting up long dinners together each night. Even though we aren’t explicitly stating our intentions, I know we all want to simulate the feeling of a family dinner. Not everything about Ray may make you feel like you’re at home, but there is no restriction on one place being home; home doesn’t even have to be a place. Home is your group of friends, your favorite sweatshirt, and the music playlist you made before entering college. Home is your dorm room, filled with your favorite snacks and all the pictures of your hometown friends scattered across the stark walls. Home is your hobbies, a good book, and a long walk. Most importantly, an immense piece of home is food. Eat until you are full, even uncomfortably full, and let that energy rush through you, sustaining your body. I heard it may even kill your homesickness.