My friend Katharine had told me that she was having ramen for lunch (she often tells me to eat, forcing me to listen to the tragic music of the dining hall, Benson), and at first I was internally fuming because, despite my dislike for noodles (rice all the way), the most Asian dishes here on campus are given the title of “Asian-inspired,” so they’re not exactly Asian. Whether that be “Asian-inspired Chicken Lettuce Cup” or even “Asian-inspired fried chicken bites” (clearly a nudge at Korean fried chicken, the other KFC), nothing was pure except for burgers and pizza; everything else appeared to be bred—purebred. In fact, they had attempted orange chicken just yesterday, which I had sent a photo of to Katharine, only for her to respond, "Fine, we can go to Panda,” given her blatant dislike, with one too many crying emojis because only she was crying.

Other than a razor cut and a bleeding thumb, I was doing great.

So all of that is to say, I was ecstatic (despite having a very sore freshly vaccinated arm and a bleeding finger from yesterday’s mishaps) to see Korean bibimbap on the menu and not some “Asian-inspired bibimbap” for lunch. I was delighted, and pleasantly so. It was at Chef's Table, a place for which I had never ordered before (I typically go to Fresh Bytes in SCIDI Hall, where labs are; they sell boba tea). But like most of the food at SCU, it was in Benson, which is (as I’ve mentioned in a previous tale) home to Mission Bakery. That place has caused me plenty of havoc since, and I really don’t know how they keep it up, but I suppose caffeine is a drug.

I had placed my order while still in my dorm, where it gave me an estimated wait time of 12 minutes, but I knew I was just going to wait until it told me that the order was ready and not believe in the 12 minutes. But 12 minutes would be 12:52, which the app does write, what they called an “aim time.”

Poster Invasion (the green alien) was back for the third straight day of selling posters; the sun was shining and all was going great. But nearing 1:30 (way past 12:52), I got so tired of staring at an “Almost Ready” update on my food that I stood up, scanned the surrounding area to see where Chef’s Table was, and made my way over, completely neglecting my bag, laptop, and all my stuff except my phone, for which I needed the QR. I suppose there’s an order, a similarity in these pieces, the lack of giving a shit, but as I made my way over, there was no line, nothing, except clear components to the bibimbap and a couple of conversing chefs. They were having a great time, and I waited a few moments, phone in hand, before one of them approached. “Chef’s Table?” 

We were right beneath the sign.

I replied “Bibimbap,” fearing the pronunciation I had learned from my mother (given her obsession with all things Korean) wouldn’t suffice and I’d have to point at my phone screen, likely displaying my NewJeans PowerPuff Girl wallpaper at the word “Bibimbap that’s not Asian-inspired” for him to understand.

But I think the conversation was shared in silence.

He understood. “What's your pickup time?"

“12:52,” I said.

“12:52?” he replied with a hearty laugh.

It was past 1:30.

Yeah…

“Just scan your code.”

I made my way over to the scanner, where the register was, only to be greeted by another guy, the cashier, tinkering away at the screen, who stated with a harsh accent on his words, “Show me the code!"

I guess I was late, but then again, they never told me my order was ready, but regardless, I pulled up the code and presented it. “Here.”

He gave me a quick, unsympathetic nod before turning to the jolly chef who was previously helping me. “I removed his code.”

I made my way back to the pickup area as he scooped the contents into the bowl one by one, filling the bowl one layer at a time, shifting towards a section with six or so toppings before asking what I wanted. I simply gave it a quick glance before saying, “All."

He looked up, flashing me a quick smile before really digging in, parting slices of carrot, daikon, kimchi, and others before finally topping it off with an egg. “Take a picture,” he said with the most energetic tone of voice I heard all day, and it was at that moment that my perception of college food changed.

Despite waiting an eternity for my food, all I could do was smile, and those very words made my day.