Evelyn Pierce, Graphics Manager / The Bucknellian

For those of you who have been religiously following my rants—and for those who haven’t, well, you really should start—welcome to another installment of me sharing my very important life experiences at Bucknell. Today’s topic? A survival guide for something we all silently suffer from: the lack of late-night food options.

First, a bit of background. I’ve never been someone who follows a strict schedule. Back home in Pakistan, there was no such thing as “breakfast,” “lunch” or “dinner” at set times. It was more of an “eat when you’re hungry” approach, where food was available whenever and meals were based entirely on when your stomach growled the loudest. And the food? Full of spices, flavors and a variety that never left me feeling bored. However, my life at Bucknell has forced me into a more regimented structure, thanks to my amazing sleeping habits. Now, I find myself stuck in a routine where my first meal happens around 11 a.m. and my second at 9:30 p.m.

Here’s the kicker: most first-years, like myself, are tied to the anytime-access meal plan. This means, unless you’re lucky enough to have some extra cash for The Bison, you’re pretty much bound to the caf’s opening hours. And if, like me, you stroll in late—brace yourselves for the look. You know the one. The one that makes you feel like you’ve just interrupted a high-society banquet and everyone’s silently questioning your right to exist because, well, the caf is about to close. It’s not even that they mind you showing up—it’s more of a collective confusion about why you’re still eating this late.

But alas, for students like me, who can’t just swipe their card at The Bison every time hunger strikes, we have to rely on whatever is left in the caf. And let me tell you, the options at that time? They make you genuinely question your life decisions. Should I eat this or simply go to bed hungry and spare myself the regret?

Now, I get it. The caf is closing, so of course the choices are limited. But it’s not just the lack of variety that gets to me—it’s the quality of what’s left. In my humble opinion, it feels like the food that’s still sitting there has been rejected by earlier diners and is now desperately hanging on for dear life. It’s like staring down at the remnants of the day’s battles and wondering if you’re truly brave enough to face the pizza that’s been there so long you’d swear it’s gained wisdom.

Speaking of pizza, that’s pretty much all I’ve been surviving on. I could probably walk into the caf with my eyes closed and still instinctively find my way to the pizza station. I mean, it’s become my staple food here, and not by choice, but out of sheer necessity. I’d even argue it’s become the unofficial symbol of late-night dining at Bucknell. Pizza—the final frontier of our cafeteria struggles.

And this brings me to the added misery of being a student from Pakistan. You see, back home, food wasn’t just sustenance—it was an experience. Spices, rich flavors and variety were part of every meal. Here, I’m just trying to fit meals in, but with the incredibly bland taste of food options, it feels like my taste buds are in a constant state of mourning. It’s not even about being picky—it’s genuinely challenging to find something that doesn’t taste like a watered-down version of what food is supposed to be. So now, when I head to the caf late at night, it’s not just the lack of options—it’s the lack of flavor that hits me the hardest. I long for the comfort of biryani or a decent kebab, but instead, I find myself staring at yet another slice of pizza or whatever is left of the salad bar.

But the problem isn’t just the time of day. Even at more reasonable hours, the options can sometimes feel limited and repetitive, particularly for those of us who crave a bit more diversity in our meals. Now, I understand that catering to hundreds of students isn’t an easy task, but when the most exciting option is the same pizza you’ve been staring at for days, it makes you wish for a bit more effort in the culinary creativity department.

So, here are three survival tips I’ve picked up, fellow late-night warriors:

1. Avoid late-night dining like the plague—I promise, it’s not worth it. You might end up sick, like I currently am, thanks to my questionable food choices after 9 p.m.

2. Walmart is your new best friend—Stock up on snacks. Trust me, a well-timed bag of chips or a stash of granola bars can save you from cafeteria-induced misery.

3. Save your meal trades for the weekend—For some reason, the caf really embraces its artistic interpretation of food over the weekend. You’ll be grateful for having that meal trade when you see what’s on offer.

At the end of the day, we’re all just trying to survive the late-night food disaster together. The caf may close, but our hunger never does. Let’s navigate these hungry waters, one questionable pizza slice at a time. Maybe one day, we’ll be greeted with late-night food that doesn’t make us question the meaning of life—and maybe, just maybe, with a little spice.