When I think of hall food, I’m immediately transported back to my first year at St. Hugh’s, in the thick of COVID-19. After dodging the virus as carefully as I could, it eventually caught up with me, locking me in my room for nearly ten days of isolation. Although my symptoms were unpleasant (but manageable), what truly terrified me was the disruption to my meal schedule. Having relied solely on cooking for myself, I was suddenly forced to submit to college’s £9-a-day COVID-19 food scheme.
I was promised a hot lunch (which was often lukewarm by the time it arrived at my door), along with a random packet of cereal, and my mortal enemy: the cold sandwich dinner. It looked like two shriveled up sponges, devoid of any butter or mayonnaise. Sometimes there was soggy watercress in it, other times crunchy meat stuffing. With every bite I took, I felt the moisture dissipate from my mouth. Not to sound too grumpy, but I spent far too many nights begrudgingly gnawing on that dry, crumbly stuffing sandwich. I couldn’t stand it or the way it would disintegrate into my hands, scattering crumbs across my desk and clothes. It got so miserable that I eventually begged a friend to pick up a food delivery just so I’d finally have something warm to eat. Once I was freed from the shackles of self-isolation, I found it almost impossible to ever try hall dining again. With menu offerings like pizza burritos (no, I don’t know what that is either), I just wasn’t sure I could face it.
Growing up, food was never dull. I was lucky that my parents were both incredible cooks, so meals at home were always vibrant and varied. From Japanese to Malaysian and Indian food, my parents made great use of our seemingly infinite spices. In fact, the summer before my first year, they armed me with a repertoire of dishes—from easy tomato pasta to Japanese-style salmon and rice. I arrived at Oxford determined to recreate the variety I was used to and maintain the freedom to cook and eat on my own schedule, unbound by hall meal times or restrictions.
But reality hit hard. Between reading, essays, and everything else university hurls your way, cooking often falls by the wayside. Some days, after hours of slogging through academic texts, I’d come back to college only to realise I had nothing to eat. And if I hadn’t found the motivation to work, what could possibly make me think that I’d have enough energy to brave a cramped college kitchen and whip up a proper meal?
My perfectionism didn’t help. Just as I held high academic standards for my studies, I applied a similar pressure to my cooking. Even on lazy days, I found it difficult to accept that dinner might be nothing more than jam on toast or plain potatoes. The post-COVID-19 trauma of cold, uninspired meals loomed large. Four years later, I’ve finally discovered the magic of meal prepping. Despite its time-consuming nature, taking the time to prepare food I actually enjoy has made life infinitely easier— and future me is always so grateful. As a result, I’ve managed to become more creative with my recipes and rediscover my love of cooking. My recipes range from Korean BBQ-style chicken to Indian prawn curry, so there’s nothing I can’t achieve with my spice collection and a freezer.
That said, there’s one thing I absolutely love about hall: formal dinners. At St. Hugh’s, they’re a weekly treat (compared to other colleges that may have daily formals) where the food takes a welcome turn for the adventurous. From seabass to steak, the dishes are far from their usual menu. Even during cultural events like Diwali or Lunar New Year, they make more of an effort to serve some exciting dishes, meaning that they can certainly make food I’d eat if they tried.
So for me, hall dining isn’t a daily ritual but a special occasion—a chance to unwind and savour both the food and the experience. But who knows, as I get closer to my finals, I may have to swallow my words and get in line for one of those infamous pizza burritos!