Spring Break
Comfortable environment worth extra cost
Scott Dennis
Issue date: 5/12/09 Section: Forum
It is a well-documented fact that Bohemian Turtlewolves (turtlus wolficus) prefer colorful coral reef habitats to barren sandy shores. The reason for this, as you must know, is that Turtlewolves and college students alike would rather live in an environment that is aesthetically and atmospherically interesting. The net effect of these elements on the resident is to stimulate the inhabitant's interest in their surroundings and encourage them to be improbably cheery.
Evidence for this fact can be observed in any number of situations, but for the sake of conciseness and my own slothfulness, I will describe a recent dinner I had at a fancy restaurant in Sandy.
It was Italian in both cuisine and décor, and very cozy. There were ornate wooden cabinets whose contents never saw daylight. A carved fireplace, burning softly and emitting as much heat as a low-voltage light bulb, stood in the middle of the eatery. Wood paneling lined walls adorned by the sorts of posters and paintings you'd expect to find in an upscale eatery; low-key impressionist depictions of wine bottles and fruits displayed on block-mounts, presumably to assure guests that this was in fact a sophisticated restaurant and not someone's converted living room.
Upon being seated I mistook our customary pitcher of drinking water for a flower vase sans flowers. It's design was far more elaborate and graceful than the practical stout containers I was used to seeing at Woodstock's or Izzy's.
The picture of elegant dining was further completed by the four ornate glasses arranged at the table, each placed upside down for the guest's convenience.
Observing all this, I couldn't help but think of a few days prior when, hungry but not energetic enough to walk to West Dining Center, I attempted to cook Cup-o-Noodles ramen in a thunderously ill-equiped Sackett kitchenette. Studying the restaurant's sumptuous ornamentation, I thought of the kitchenette's stark white paint and plain, blocky walls.
Evidence for this fact can be observed in any number of situations, but for the sake of conciseness and my own slothfulness, I will describe a recent dinner I had at a fancy restaurant in Sandy.
It was Italian in both cuisine and décor, and very cozy. There were ornate wooden cabinets whose contents never saw daylight. A carved fireplace, burning softly and emitting as much heat as a low-voltage light bulb, stood in the middle of the eatery. Wood paneling lined walls adorned by the sorts of posters and paintings you'd expect to find in an upscale eatery; low-key impressionist depictions of wine bottles and fruits displayed on block-mounts, presumably to assure guests that this was in fact a sophisticated restaurant and not someone's converted living room.
Upon being seated I mistook our customary pitcher of drinking water for a flower vase sans flowers. It's design was far more elaborate and graceful than the practical stout containers I was used to seeing at Woodstock's or Izzy's.
The picture of elegant dining was further completed by the four ornate glasses arranged at the table, each placed upside down for the guest's convenience.
Observing all this, I couldn't help but think of a few days prior when, hungry but not energetic enough to walk to West Dining Center, I attempted to cook Cup-o-Noodles ramen in a thunderously ill-equiped Sackett kitchenette. Studying the restaurant's sumptuous ornamentation, I thought of the kitchenette's stark white paint and plain, blocky walls.
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