At Harvard, to facilitate the exchange between student and the intimidating faculty, once a semester students can invite faculty members (whether they be full professors or mere “teaching fellows” aka TAs) over for dinner. As a freshman, this means dining in the hallowed Annenberg Hall, frequently compared to Hogwarts. As a sophomore, this means taking advantage of the more intimate environs of the upperclass dining halls.
It’s a kind of exercise uniquely suited to grooming the future leaders of tomorrow for formal socializing. The boys put on button downs and tuck in their shirts; the girls put on skirts and heels. Dinner is preceded by schmoozing and nonalcoholic punch. The dining hall staff, instead of replacing giant vats of pasta, don crisp white shirts and refill water glasses.
For dinner, we were served a standard Caesar salad, followed by a prosciutto-wrapped chicken breast with gnocchi. (At this point, the fire alarm went off. We milled outside as fire trucks arrived and our chicken cooled.) Then dessert was a surprisingly delicious chocolate cake topped by a chocolate-dipped tangerine section – the cake was rich and crusty, in a good way, without going for the usual molten convention of goo. Me and three other girls had invited the professor who teaches Food and Culture (Ted Bestor), and after two of them left, the conversation took a turn towards the more bizarre, perverse aspects of Japanese culture.
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