The chowhall… This is a fine tradition in the military and at many other institutions—oh, they might call it a cafeteria or even a bistro, but it is the same damn thing everywhere… Again, I don’t want to sound like I am complaining—I mean, after one of the posts about the port-a-potties here I received a comment about how in Viet Nam their port-a-potty didn’t even have a roof and bullets regularly zoomed through the top of the thing! On top of that, showers were taken with water stored in old Agent Orange 55 gallon drums. So, if anyone is concerned that some of those Prophets of Doom might be right in claiming that
Hopefully, after this post, we will get some good comparisons to the food in
Anyway, here is the thing, or, rather, several things… The chowhall is a mysterious place where things happen in a strange, wondrous and often inexplicable ways.
Serving size: When you go through the line in the chowhall here, you can watch the guy in front of you ask for say, some pot roast. You can see him get three or four huge pieces on his plate—way too much for any normal human—even a Marine! So, when it is your turn you ask for “just one”—there is usually a bit of a communication issue , but “just one” seems pretty simple and direct, especially when used in conjunction with the universal sign for 1. But, sadly, it doesn’t work this way. Somehow the server interprets your begging for less food to mean “give me one more than the last guy through the line” or “just give me one plateful.” As he dishes you up he just smiles, nods his head and says, “Thank you, Sir!” I swear, I had about five pounds of pot roast on my plate the other day as a walked back to the table. Do you know how much hot sauce it takes to make 5 lbs of chow hall pot roast edible—me neither, I ran out… Funny thing is, there are signs all over the chow hall encouraging you to take as much food as you need, but no more; because if you take too much another Marine might not be able to eat… right…
Speaking of pot roast, AKA “Mystery Meat”, this is an actual conversation I overheard today:
Guy In Line: Is that turkey?
Serving Guy: No, ham.
Meanwhile the sign above the tray of meat says Salisbury Steak and the meat in the pan is clearly a roast pork loin… Inherently obvious to even the most casual observer…
Just before you enter the chowhall, there is a bulletin board outside that lists the day’s menu. I haven’t found it to be particularly accurate, and it is damn hot outside (don’t know if I mentioned that fact before), so standing outside in the sun reading the menu is not at the top of my list of things to do prior to eating. The standard operating procedure, for me at least, is to enter the chowhall and check out the “main” line that has your normal chowhall hot entrees and, if these are lacking, to cross over to the “quick” line that is basically the same everyday with hamburgers and sandwiches and such. Seems like a reasonable thing to do to me. Evidently it seemed like a reasonable thing to others also—which is exactly why the chowhall personnel must have decided it was a Bad Idea. Yesterday there was a rope (a nice velvet rope with gold colored posts—just like in an old-fashioned movie theater—bet they didn’t have those in Nam either!) blocking the way between the two lines and a big hand-written sign that proclaimed “this is not a shortcut. Make your decision outside!” Well, this was one of those days where the “main” line had proved completely unappetizing, and I had to get to the other side—what to do? By the way, there are two doors into the chowhall, each with a Marine sitting there making tally marks for everyone that comes in so that they can figure out how much food they are serving (do they know how big the portions are?? Actually, they do, but that is another story). I take a chance on actually talking to the young Marine manning the door I should have gone through and sitting closest to the rope that I want to cross.
Me: Hey, what’s up with this rope? If I go out the other door and come back in this one, then I will get two tick marks and screw up the bean-counting (or, head counting in this case)—what should I do?
Marine: Sir, I had no part in the decision to place this rope or sign here, and I cannot comment on the wisdom of that decision. I was only instructed to make sure no one crossed the rope.
Well, that was pretty clear. Don’t cross a Marine when he has been given an order. However, I could tell that he was sane and appreciated my predicament. Interestingly, 20 feet down the line, there is another walkway where one can cross from one side of the chowhall to the other. So, I walk down there, where there is no rope, and then back up to the line I want to be in, giving a Hang-Ten sign to the Marine as I get in line—he gives me the thumbs up back. He was probably glad he didn’t have to shoot me for crossing the rope, but really didn’t care which line I was in.
By the way, the chili cheese burger was awesome from the “quick” line, and the rope and sign were gone today…
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