Food Poisoning from My Ex-Favorite Restaurant

Being Georgia born and raised, I grew up eating the classic southern foods. Those from the South are probably already thinking with mouth watering sensations of the fried chicken, garden grown vegetables, and homemade bread, whereas Northerners may be rolling their eyes at the thought of our grits, sweet potatoes, and black eyed peas. No matter where one may be from, certain foods, even types of foods, evoke emotions and memories.

For instance, the smells of bacon melting with cheese, of vegetables being mixed in a thick, tomato based broth remind me of sitting at the kitchen table, doing my homework while my mother cooked one of her many homecooked and often from scratch meals. The aura of the kitchen would waft into the dining room, making it hard to concentrate on my work, as my stomach seemed to always growl louder, seem more empty than it was just moments ago at the scent of food baking.

Various meals, usually comprised of a roasted, grilled, or baked chicken, beef, or steak with hot boiled and seasoned vegetables, soft, buttery rolls, and occasionally the banana pudding. Sweet iced tea typically topped off the meal, with its refreshing coolness relieving the general hot temperature of my mother's cooking.

I even recall enjoying the random breakfasts for dinner. French toast with warm syrup, lightly sprinkled with confectioner's sugar with the traditional grits and bacon still makes my stomach growl with the warm, nostalgic memories of living at home and partaking in homecooked meals. Although, even though the meals were indescribably fulfilling and each bite familiar, yet just as tasteful a the previous, the meals brought us together as a family. This was a time where we would all put aside time away from our schedules of soccer practice, work, and homework to be together. This was a time where we were a family.

Instead, now I am subject to the greasy and cheaply prepared food that is made daily for the masses of students. My family and homecooked meals are no longer a monumental time in my day. Thus, soon after school began, I began eating at one of my family's favorite restaurants twice a week. The Varsity in downtown Atlanta, happens to be in extremely close proximity to Georgia Tech campus, and although I acknowledge the fact that the famous chili dogs and crispy and flaky onion rings are not the healthiest of foods, it cannot be much worse than the grease pit on campus that is referred to as a dining hall.

I am not sure if I was a such a fanatic for Varsity food because the quality and taste of the food were top notch or if because it was such a habit of eating there with my family and it evoked many memories of after soccer game milkshakes and loading up "naked dogs" with ketchup after a trip to the aquarium. Although the second reason is more probable, living downtown, the Varsity quickly became my choice of eatery whenever I found a free evening coinciding with my rooommate. In a way I felt connected to my memories of being a kid sitting there in my grass-stained jersey sipping a coke, or being in a dress sitting across from my daddy on one of our many father-daughter dates. In this sense, I loved the atmosphere of the Varsity.

Nevertheless, it had to be that one predestined day that I chose to not eat at Woodruff Dining Hall, and take the trolley to the bus with my roommate, and walk into the Varsity and order a "chilidog" where any future desire for or even the thought of Varsity food in a positive perspective was completely and utterly destroyed. That first bite of my "chili dog", which is now as repulsive as a month old MacDonald's cheeseburger, was at the time, a tender and juicy meat smothered in meaty chili and a mound of ketchup and splotches of mustard wrapped in a thick bun. The onion rings complemented the "chili dog" with their crispy, golden brown shell hiding the sauteed onion within.

What may appear to be an appetizing meal, is an appeal that is, regretfully, only a memory now. Barely three hours after I had eaten my meal and had returned to my dorm room on campus, my stomach beagn to rumble. Not the growling, hunger sensation, but rather more of a churning, as if my insides were on a tilt-a-whirl at a theme park. My insides were on the move! This I can assure you. In a matter of minutes, my stomach went from a churn to a point where I could feel that glorious "chili dog" defying gravity. Some science phenomena cannot be explained, such as sometimes when things go down, if they have some kind of particluar defect, they will come back up. I personally had this experience.

For two days I spent monotonous hours laying in bed, listening to the television drone on and on over shows and movies I was unable to open my eyes to watch. The "chili dog" seemed to want to take its sweet, precious time coming up as the only time I continuously got up was to lean over the trashcan conveniently placed at my bedside. Everytime I seemed to feel a little better and I would attempt to eat the smallest of crumbs or drink the faintest drop of water, it was as if whatever was left of that "chili dog" and onion rings said, "No sir! You cannot stay here!" And back from where it came did it arrive within minutes.

My most miserable weekend consisted of me laying in bed for hours on end, feeling as if I was riding a magic spinning teacup in Disney World, even though I was still, missing classes that Monday, and ended with me despising and even nauseous at the thought of smelling a "chili dog" or tasting an onion ring. However, when I finally felt up to coming back to the autonomy of my college life, I was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for the time to go when I smelled my mother cooking chicken noodle soup from the kitchen. I could not recall anything ever smelling or tasting anything so exquisitely, yet simply delicious.