North Star

Chapter 8: Truffle Mac 'n Cheese

The dining hall used to be a chapel, from back in the days when this part of the campus was an old Catholic convent before being absorbed into the University. The result is that three times a day, I get to eat meals in a magnificent, cavernous hall of prayer that looks like it came straight off the set of a Harry Potter movie.

It’s official. I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Students from Marie-Adélaïde House, and the nearby boy’s boarding house too, are seated at long dark oak wooden tables that run the length of the hall. Sunlight shines through the giant stained glass windows on either side of the hall, casting patches of ruby and amber and emerald and sapphire-hued light across the room, so that it looks like we’re sitting inside a rainbow or a giant kaleidoscope. 

At one end of the hall, a lavish hot buffet has been laid out - everything from carvery meats and vegan meals, to seafood and salad and a separate table for desserts and puddings and drinks. It looks more like the sort of buffet you’d expect to see at a fancy five star hotel - not somewhere students eat.

Even the crockery and cutlery is exquisite - expensive looking crockery and bright shining silverware, that must have cost a small fortune.

We each pick up a tray with a plate and cutlery, and Heloise piles her plate high with a fragrant, leafy, herby salad and a helping of macaroni cheese, which has flakes of something black and pungent grated onto it. 

I wrinkle up my nose as the smell hits me - I can't decide whether it's delicious or disgusting, or maybe even a mix of both.

“What’s that weird stinky black stuff on the mac ‘n cheese?” I ask, wondering at the strangely delicious smell. It’s oaky, and woody, earthy and meaty all at once, and quite overpowering.

“This?” She asks, prodding at one of the black flakes with her fork. “Summer truffles. Probably from Piedmont in Northern Italy, or somewhere in that area. You’ve never eaten truffles?”

“Only the chocolate confectionery kind that comes in a heart shaped box,” I say, feeling suddenly very unsophisticated. "You know... chocolate bon bons?" 

Heloise chuckles at this, and I hope I'm not coming cross as very uncultured.

I’ve heard of truffles, of course - on cooking shows, and I've read about them online - but the most I know about them is that they are ridiculously expensive, and they are some sort of mushroom or fungus or something. Something that only the super wealthy and A lister celebrities could afford to eat - but here they are grated onto a random macaroni cheese dish like an afterthought, a dime a dozen.

How much money do these people have, anyway? What exactly have I walked into here?

“Well, there’s no better time to try it then,” Heloise says. “Trust me. There’s no better mac 'n cheese in the whole world. The dining hall kitchen staff is headed by none other than Giancarlo Fellini. You've heard of him?"

I shake my head, and she shrugs.

"Well, he was one of the top chefs in Milan before the University nabbed him,” she explains. "You'll understand in a moment why he's so well loved. Just take your first bite of Summer Truffle Mac 'n Cheese and you'll get it. The food here is utterly orgasmic."

I feel myself blush, and I hope she didn't notice.

So I decide to take her advice, and I dish up a big helping of macaroni cheese, selecting a greek salad with plenty of tomatoes and feta as the accompaniment. There’s such an immense variety of amazing food laid out before me, and I’m low key tempted to just pile my whole plate (or several plates) high with a little bit of everything, just to try it all - but I definitely don’t want to look like a total pig on my first day here. And besides, I’m going to be here for a whole six months. I'm sure there’ll be plenty of time to try everything on the menu.

I follow Heloise to a spot near the far end of the dining hall, where a couple of girls and guys are sitting at one of the long tables. 

I feel that old familiar flutter of nerves and social anxiety rising up in my chest.

Fight it. Now more than ever, I need to be brave.

Heloise places her tray down in an empty spot, gesturing for me to do the same. I sit down next to her, fighting down the horrible fluttery feeling of shyness at meeting new people.

“Everyone, this is Meg,” she says brightly, before introducing her friends to me one by one.

“Meg, this is Hannah,” she gestures towards a very tall, thin girl with sharp, severe features and long straight brunette hair. “From Bristol.” 

“Hi,” Hannah says with a quick smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth.

“Mahalia’s from Manila,” Heloise gestures towards a short, slightly chubby girl with dark hair, caramel skin and a pretty face, sitting next to Hannah. Mahalia smiles shyly at me. 

Next, Heloise introduces a red haired boy and his girlfriend - the same couple that Theresa pointed out earlier. “Étienne’s local and Aamira’s from Paris,” Heloise says.

Now that I’m seeing Étienne up close, the family resemblance with his sister is really obvious - like Theresa, he has curly red hair, ridiculously pale white skin (like milk or a sheet of paper, literally) covered in freckles and soft brown eyes that seem to be filled with laughter - and maybe some mischief, too. And Aamira is even prettier than I first thought - she has a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and big dark brown eyes, accentuated with a streak of bright turquoise kohl on each eyelid, matching her pale purplish-blue hijab. The contrast with her dark brown skin is beautiful.

“You’re the girl who Theresa bought in earlier,” Aamira says, her accent a soft French purr similar to Heloise's but a bit more refined and cosmopolitan. “So Meg, which part of the globe have they recruited you from?”

I’m about to answer, when someone places their tray down and takes a seat beside me.

“MALAYSIA,” the newcomer says.

What?!