Be Yourselves, Girls, Order the Rib-Eye
E-MailPrint Reprints Save Share
DiggFacebookNewsvinePermalink
By ALLEN SALKIN
Published: August 9, 2007
MARTHA FLACH mentioned meat twice in her Match.com profile: “I love architecture, The New Yorker, dogs ... steak for two and the Sunday puzzle.”
Skip to next paragraph
Christopher Smith for The New York Times
IT’S WHAT’S FOR DINNER Ashley Draughon and Fred Graham dine on red meat at Quality Meats.
She was seeking, she added, “a smart, funny, kind man who owns a suit (but isn’t one) ... and loves red wine and a big steak.”
The repetition worked. On her first date with Austin Wilkie, they ate steak frites. A year later, after burgers at the Corner Bistro in Greenwich Village, he proposed. This March, the rehearsal dinner was at Keens Steakhouse on West 36th Street, and the wedding menu included mini-cheeseburgers and more steak.
Ms. Wilkie was a vegetarian in her teens, and even wore a “Meat Is Murder” T-shirt. But by her 30s, she had started eating cow. By the time she placed the personal ad, she had come to realize that ordering steak on a first date had the potential to sate appetites not only of the stomach but of the heart.
Red meat sent a message that she was “unpretentious and down to earth and unneurotic,” she said, “that I’m not obsessed with my weight even though I’m thin, and I don’t have any food issues.” She added, “In terms of the burgers, it said I’m a cheap date, low maintenance.”
Salad, it seems, is out. Gusto, medium rare, is in.
Restaurateurs and veterans of the dating scene say that for many women, meat is no longer murder. Instead, meat is strategy. “I’ve been shocked at the number of women actually ordering steak,” said Michael Stillman, vice president of concept development for the Smith & Wollensky Restaurant Group, which opened the restaurant Quality Meats in April 2006 on West 58th Street. He said Quality Meats’ contemporary design and menu, including extensive seafood offerings, were designed to attract more women than a traditional steakhouse. “But the meat is appealing to them, much more than what I saw two or three years ago at our other restaurants,” Mr. Stillman said. “They are going for our bone-in sirloin and our cowboy-cut rib steak.”
In an earlier era, conventional dating wisdom for women was to eat something at home alone before a date, and then in company order a light dinner to portray oneself as dainty and ladylike. For some women, that is still the practice. “It’s better not to have a jalapeño fajita plate, especially on the first date,” said Andrea Bey, 28, who sells video surveillance equipment in Irving, Tex., and describes herself as “curvy.” “You don’t want to be labeled as ‘princess gassy’ on the first date.”
But others, especially those who are thin, say ordering a salad displays an unappealing mousiness.
“It seems wimpy, insipid, childish,” said Michelle Heller, 34, a copy editor at TV Guide. “I don’t want to be considered vapid and uninteresting.”
Ordering meat, on the other hand, is a declarative statement, something along the lines of “I am woman, hear me chew.”
In fact, red meat on a date has become such an effective statement of self-acceptance that even a vegetarian like Sloane Crosley, a publicist at Random House, sometimes longs to order a burger.
“Being a vegetarian puts you at a disadvantage,” Ms. Crosley said. “You’re in the most basic category of finicky. Even women who order chicken, it isn’t enough.” She said she has thought of ordering shots of Jägermeister, famous for its frat boy associations, to prove that she is “a guy’s girl.”
“Everyone wants to be the girl who drinks the beer and eats the steak and looks like Kate Hudson,” Ms. Crosley, 28, said.
Not all red meat, apparently, is equal in the dating world. The mediums of steak and hamburger each send a different message. Dropping into conversation the fact that steaks of Kobe beef come from Wagyu cattle, but that not all steaks sold as Wagyu are Kobe beef, demonstrates one’s worldliness, said Gabriella Gershenson, a dining editor at Time Out New York. It holds the same currency today that being able to name Hemingway’s four wives held in an earlier era.
Hamburgers, she added, say you are down-to-earth, which is why women rarely order those deluxe hamburgers priced as high as a porterhouse.
“They’re created for men who want to impress women, so they order the $60 burger, then they let the woman taste it,” Ms. Gershenson said. “The man gets to show off his expertise and show that he can afford it.”
When Paris Hilton was arrested for driving under the influence, she announced that she had been on her way to In-N-Out Burger, the Southern California chain revered for its gut-busting Double-Double, as if trying to satisfy a craving for two slabs of meat and cheese was an excuse for drunken driving that anyone could understand. And twice last year, Nicole Richie, persistently facing rumors that she suffered from an eating disorder, was photographed biting into burgers in Los Angeles, an effort that seemed designed to demonstrate her casualness toward calories.
Of course, there are always those rare women who order what they want and to heck with what a man might think.
Saehee Hwang, 30, a production director at Artnet.com, found herself out with friends at DuMont restaurant in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, when she started feeling attracted to a new guy in the group. She said she had wanted to order a burger, but started having second thoughts. “I didn’t want to appear too much of a carnivore,” she said. “It might be off-putting.”
But then she decided she should not change her order to fit a preconceived idea of what a man might want. She ordered the house specialty, a half-pound of beef on a toasted brioche bun with Gruyère cheese. “We started dating afterward,” Ms. Hwang said. “And he told me he liked the fact that I ordered the burger.”
What about when the tables, so to speak, are reversed? Can a man order a juicy New York strip on the first date and make a good impression? Gentlemen, be careful. Real men, it seems, must eat kale.
“When a guy sits down and eats something fatty and big, you wonder if they eat like that all the time,” said Brice Gaillard, a freelance design writer. “It crosses my mind they’ll probably die early.”
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/09/fashion/09STEAK.html?em&ex=1186891200&en=0f071a218bdbe24c&ei=5087%0A
Showing posts with label NYT. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NYT. Show all posts
Friday, August 10, 2007
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Students in Residence
More Than a Meal Plan
Angela Jimenez for The New York Times
Whitman College, which anchors Princeton's new four-year residential college system, opens in August. At last, a dining hall for juniors and seniors (in mid-construction, left and right).
E-MailPrint Save Share
DiggFacebookNewsvinePermalink
By WINNIE HU
Published: July 29, 2007
THE Gothic towers and archways of Princeton’s newest dormitories were pieced together from 6,000 tons of hand-carved limestone and five types of bluestone, custom blended. Full-grown redwoods, cedars and firs were hoisted into place with cranes. Mahogany-framed leaded windows open the old-fashioned way, by hand-turned cranks, and the three-inch-thick oak doors were finished with teak oil rather than urethane.
Skip to next paragraph
Education Life
Go to Special Section »
Enlarge This Image
Angela Jimenez for The New York Times
Tiger Inn and other eating clubs on Prospect Avenue provide a social base for students.
Enlarge This Image
Angela Jimenez for The New York Times
A send-off party this spring for Butler College, which is being torn down and rebuilt with the amenities needed for a four-year residential college.
At a cost of some $100 million, the residential complex known collectively as Whitman College looks as if it has always been there, on a campus whose traditions run centuries deep. The luxury continues inside: duplex suites, semiprivate dining rooms, classrooms, library with computer carrels, digital photo lab, performing arts theater with dressing rooms, lounge with a piano and big-screen television.
Whitman College, opening on Aug. 17, will begin to accommodate Princeton’s first major expansion in more than three decades — 500 additional undergraduates by 2012, for a total of 5,200. But the university is not just building a new residential college; it is reinventing campus life.
Whitman will anchor a new four-year residential college system, including two reconfigured two-year colleges, Mathey and Butler, that is intended to give juniors and seniors an alternative to the private eating clubs that have been the dominant social force here for more than a century.
Since 1982, every incoming freshman has been randomly assigned to live in one of five colleges — Mathey, Butler, Rockefeller, Forbes and Wilson — where they are encouraged to dine, socialize and form a community under the guidance of faculty members. But come third year, they have to move, and many end up at the “junior slums,” as some upperclass dorms are known. In the absence of dining halls in those dorms, more than 70 percent of juniors and seniors join an eating club. The rest eat in the underclass colleges and at the student center under a university meal plan, or they become responsible for their own sustenance.
The clubs have evolved into much more than a place to take meals and can border on an obsession for those vying for entry to the older, more prestigious ones. Half of the 10 clubs, which shun publicity about their rituals and operations, still handpick new members through “bicker,” a multinight process said to be named for the bickering over which applicants to accept. Critics have long charged that the clubs reinforce socioeconomic divisions at a university whose population ranges from scions of the nation’s wealthiest families to students on full need-based scholarship. The clubs have also become known for underage drinking and noisy parties, in part because of the university’s longstanding ban on fraternities and sororities. (In recent years, though, Princeton students have formed several underground Greek organizations.)
Rob Biederman, the student government president, expects the four-year colleges to provide a continuous social experience that does not exist now, and an opportunity for students who forgo clubs. Mr. Biederman will move into Whitman for his senior year after unsuccessfully bickering at two selective clubs. He describes a “hunter-gatherer lifestyle” his junior year, alternating meals at the student center and local restaurants when he could not wangle guest passes to the clubs.
“If you’re in an eating club, you have a place to hang out during the day that isn’t your room, that isn’t the campus center,” he says. “But if you’re independent, you don’t.”
“I think if you asked people at the end of Princeton to rate how happy they were, people in eating clubs would be the happiest,” he says. “And I think people in four-year colleges will be just as happy as the people in eating clubs.”
Nancy Weiss Malkiel, dean of the college, says the new colleges were created not to compete with the eating clubs but as a response to students who wanted to remain in their colleges and were asking for a broader menu of social programs. “We’re enabling students to choose what they want to do,” she says. “And there are plenty of students to go around with the expansion.”
Still, the potential impact on the clubs has not gone unnoted.
Kyle Morgan, a Tiger Inn president who graduated in June, says he is concerned that students who might have joined clubs will be tempted away by the perks the university is dangling: “If it’s, ‘Hey, you can live in a 1,300-square-foot, five-room quad and have a photo lab right next door or you can live in Brown Hall and join an eating club,’ I don’t think you’re presenting students with equal options.”
PRINCETON’S eating clubs occupy stately mansions off campus, primarily along Prospect Avenue. They hire their own chefs and staff to run the buildings, which typically include a dining room, living room, library and — something Whitman will not have — a taproom. Members tend to stop by several times a day for meals, study breaks, movie nights and formal dances.
The first official eating club, Ivy, was formed in 1879 by a group of students who rented a stove and hired a cook, according to William K. Selden’s historical account, “Club Life at Princeton.” Mediocre food and sporadic operation of the campus dining hall had driven students to seek out local boardinghouses, and more than 20 clubs eventually formed, though failing finances and declining membership closed half. Women were admitted to the last all-male holdouts, after a decade of discrimination litigation, in 1991.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, a Princeton alumnus, offered a primer on the distinct character and social standing of the clubs in his 1920 novel, “This Side of Paradise.” He pegged the exclusive Ivy Club as “detached and breathlessly aristocratic” and Tiger Inn as “broad-shouldered and athletic, vitalized by an honest elaboration of prep-school standards” — both descriptions that could apply today. Fitzgerald was a member of the University Cottage Club, “an impressive mélange of brilliant adventurers and well-dressed philanderers.”
While not every eating club is easily defined, many have established identities that attract like-minded members. The Cap and Gown Club is said to attract athletes, though swimmers and rowers (“floaters and boaters”) favor Cloister Inn.
As a student at Princeton in the late 1980s, I was a member of Terrace, one of five clubs where students “sign in” to join (not everyone gets their first choice, however, because a lottery system is used). I liked its artsy, casual vibe — and the food. After subsisting on institutional fare for two years, I couldn’t get enough of the ethnic cuisine and homemade breads, and gained seven pounds in one semester. The current consensus is that the food at Terrace has slipped. The best meals are apparently at Charter, Colonial and Tower.
“You talk to people who are 60 or 70 years old, and the thing they remember most about being at Princeton is being in the eating clubs,” says Marco Fossati-Bellani, a president of Colonial Club who graduated in June. “It’s one of the things I’m going to take away from Princeton. I mean, I’m happy I took the classes I did, but everything I did that was fun came through Colonial pretty much.”
Eating-club fun of recent years has gotten out of hand.
Tiger Inn — often called Princeton’s “Animal House” — went dry for nearly two months in 2006 after reports of alcohol abuse and a sexual assault during “pickups” weekend, when, in the culmination to bicker, new members celebrate their initiation. That was the second report that school year of a sexual assault at the club.
“It had gotten to the point where people on Prospect were saying, ‘It’s T.I., what do you expect?’ ” says Hap Cooper, the club’s graduate board president. “That embarrassed them.”
Tiger Inn reopened its taps with new security and alcohol policies, including a buddy system to check on new members and in-house escorts to guide intoxicated students home. In addition, students who misbehave can have privileges restricted.
Some students say the changes have encouraged them to act more responsibly. “Definitely, people have grown up,” says Mr. Morgan of Tiger Inn.
WHILE several members describe bicker as a “G-rated” fraternity rush, with get-to-know-you activities like Taboo and Pictionary, costume wearing, relay races and the telling of funny stories about yourself, others describe a selection process that assesses candidates for wealth, family connections and physical attractiveness.
Woodrow Wilson, who as the university’s president had proposed eliminating eating clubs, declared that the lot of those students who were left out was “a little less than deplorable.” The current president, Shirley M. Tilghman, has criticized the selective clubs for choosing too “homogeneously” and not representing “the spirit of Princeton.” Students themselves have organized boycotts of the system at various times.
If administrators have had differences with the clubs, which are independent of the university, they have come to accept their importance.
Mark Burstein, Princeton’s executive vice president, says he met regularly with club officers and alumni to solicit input and secure their cooperation for the four-year residential colleges. “We see a strong connection to the eating clubs,” he says. “You can’t really separate out entities that are so essential to your student population. I would say that we are part of the same family.”
In the past, the university has covered the cost of a typical meal plan — $4,315 last year, as opposed to the average club fee of $6,300 — for juniors and seniors receiving financial aid. This fall, the university will increase that aid by $2,000. All juniors and seniors can also eat two free meals a week at any residential college. The eating clubs, in turn, have agreed to let about 100 residents of the colleges join a club at a reduced rate. The majority of students, though, will have to choose between the two.
If last spring’s room draw is any indication, there is no shortage of interest in the four-year colleges. Whitman filled quickly — 476 applied for the 204 upperclass spots, with the remaining rooms reserved for about 300 freshmen and sophomores. About 100 juniors and seniors will move into Mathey College in the fall.
Most of the modernist-style Butler is being torn down and rebuilt; the new dorms are to open in fall 2009 to house students for all four years. One evening this past spring, more than 100 past and present residents of Butler gathered to send off the squat, dark-brown buildings, widely considered the ugliest on campus, with a courtyard barbecue featuring drinks and live music. Handout T-shirts mocked the industrial-style ceilings and proclaimed “the end of an era.”
Meg Whitman, an alumna and chief executive officer of eBay, donated $30 million for the construction of Whitman College on a site that once held tennis courts. The eating clubs may find competition in the food stations, which will offer salad, pizza and grilled foods in place of the assembly-line cafeteria service of yore. The dining hall will have booths and smaller tables instead of large ones arranged in long rows. An area will be kept open for late-night snacks.
The colleges also have their own activities budgets and academic faculty advisers, who will be assigned to residents for all four years. The university’s writing program has been relocated to Whitman, where instructors will have offices and meet with students in seminar rooms on the ground floor.
Jennifer Schoppe, who just completed her freshman year in Mathey, says when she arrived at Princeton she assumed she would join an eating club. But Ms. Schoppe, an engineering major, says she is loath to give up the perks of the residential college, including informal lunches with professors and subsidized tickets to the Metropolitan Opera in New York.
“Once you leave the college, it’s not available to you anymore,” she says. “It’s definitely made me think of the options a lot harder.”
Winnie Hu is an education reporter for The Times.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/29/education/edlife/princeton.html?ei=5070&en=4115dd4389a7049c&ex=1186632000&pagewanted=all
More Than a Meal Plan
Angela Jimenez for The New York Times
Whitman College, which anchors Princeton's new four-year residential college system, opens in August. At last, a dining hall for juniors and seniors (in mid-construction, left and right).
E-MailPrint Save Share
DiggFacebookNewsvinePermalink
By WINNIE HU
Published: July 29, 2007
THE Gothic towers and archways of Princeton’s newest dormitories were pieced together from 6,000 tons of hand-carved limestone and five types of bluestone, custom blended. Full-grown redwoods, cedars and firs were hoisted into place with cranes. Mahogany-framed leaded windows open the old-fashioned way, by hand-turned cranks, and the three-inch-thick oak doors were finished with teak oil rather than urethane.
Skip to next paragraph
Education Life
Go to Special Section »
Enlarge This Image
Angela Jimenez for The New York Times
Tiger Inn and other eating clubs on Prospect Avenue provide a social base for students.
Enlarge This Image
Angela Jimenez for The New York Times
A send-off party this spring for Butler College, which is being torn down and rebuilt with the amenities needed for a four-year residential college.
At a cost of some $100 million, the residential complex known collectively as Whitman College looks as if it has always been there, on a campus whose traditions run centuries deep. The luxury continues inside: duplex suites, semiprivate dining rooms, classrooms, library with computer carrels, digital photo lab, performing arts theater with dressing rooms, lounge with a piano and big-screen television.
Whitman College, opening on Aug. 17, will begin to accommodate Princeton’s first major expansion in more than three decades — 500 additional undergraduates by 2012, for a total of 5,200. But the university is not just building a new residential college; it is reinventing campus life.
Whitman will anchor a new four-year residential college system, including two reconfigured two-year colleges, Mathey and Butler, that is intended to give juniors and seniors an alternative to the private eating clubs that have been the dominant social force here for more than a century.
Since 1982, every incoming freshman has been randomly assigned to live in one of five colleges — Mathey, Butler, Rockefeller, Forbes and Wilson — where they are encouraged to dine, socialize and form a community under the guidance of faculty members. But come third year, they have to move, and many end up at the “junior slums,” as some upperclass dorms are known. In the absence of dining halls in those dorms, more than 70 percent of juniors and seniors join an eating club. The rest eat in the underclass colleges and at the student center under a university meal plan, or they become responsible for their own sustenance.
The clubs have evolved into much more than a place to take meals and can border on an obsession for those vying for entry to the older, more prestigious ones. Half of the 10 clubs, which shun publicity about their rituals and operations, still handpick new members through “bicker,” a multinight process said to be named for the bickering over which applicants to accept. Critics have long charged that the clubs reinforce socioeconomic divisions at a university whose population ranges from scions of the nation’s wealthiest families to students on full need-based scholarship. The clubs have also become known for underage drinking and noisy parties, in part because of the university’s longstanding ban on fraternities and sororities. (In recent years, though, Princeton students have formed several underground Greek organizations.)
Rob Biederman, the student government president, expects the four-year colleges to provide a continuous social experience that does not exist now, and an opportunity for students who forgo clubs. Mr. Biederman will move into Whitman for his senior year after unsuccessfully bickering at two selective clubs. He describes a “hunter-gatherer lifestyle” his junior year, alternating meals at the student center and local restaurants when he could not wangle guest passes to the clubs.
“If you’re in an eating club, you have a place to hang out during the day that isn’t your room, that isn’t the campus center,” he says. “But if you’re independent, you don’t.”
“I think if you asked people at the end of Princeton to rate how happy they were, people in eating clubs would be the happiest,” he says. “And I think people in four-year colleges will be just as happy as the people in eating clubs.”
Nancy Weiss Malkiel, dean of the college, says the new colleges were created not to compete with the eating clubs but as a response to students who wanted to remain in their colleges and were asking for a broader menu of social programs. “We’re enabling students to choose what they want to do,” she says. “And there are plenty of students to go around with the expansion.”
Still, the potential impact on the clubs has not gone unnoted.
Kyle Morgan, a Tiger Inn president who graduated in June, says he is concerned that students who might have joined clubs will be tempted away by the perks the university is dangling: “If it’s, ‘Hey, you can live in a 1,300-square-foot, five-room quad and have a photo lab right next door or you can live in Brown Hall and join an eating club,’ I don’t think you’re presenting students with equal options.”
PRINCETON’S eating clubs occupy stately mansions off campus, primarily along Prospect Avenue. They hire their own chefs and staff to run the buildings, which typically include a dining room, living room, library and — something Whitman will not have — a taproom. Members tend to stop by several times a day for meals, study breaks, movie nights and formal dances.
The first official eating club, Ivy, was formed in 1879 by a group of students who rented a stove and hired a cook, according to William K. Selden’s historical account, “Club Life at Princeton.” Mediocre food and sporadic operation of the campus dining hall had driven students to seek out local boardinghouses, and more than 20 clubs eventually formed, though failing finances and declining membership closed half. Women were admitted to the last all-male holdouts, after a decade of discrimination litigation, in 1991.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, a Princeton alumnus, offered a primer on the distinct character and social standing of the clubs in his 1920 novel, “This Side of Paradise.” He pegged the exclusive Ivy Club as “detached and breathlessly aristocratic” and Tiger Inn as “broad-shouldered and athletic, vitalized by an honest elaboration of prep-school standards” — both descriptions that could apply today. Fitzgerald was a member of the University Cottage Club, “an impressive mélange of brilliant adventurers and well-dressed philanderers.”
While not every eating club is easily defined, many have established identities that attract like-minded members. The Cap and Gown Club is said to attract athletes, though swimmers and rowers (“floaters and boaters”) favor Cloister Inn.
As a student at Princeton in the late 1980s, I was a member of Terrace, one of five clubs where students “sign in” to join (not everyone gets their first choice, however, because a lottery system is used). I liked its artsy, casual vibe — and the food. After subsisting on institutional fare for two years, I couldn’t get enough of the ethnic cuisine and homemade breads, and gained seven pounds in one semester. The current consensus is that the food at Terrace has slipped. The best meals are apparently at Charter, Colonial and Tower.
“You talk to people who are 60 or 70 years old, and the thing they remember most about being at Princeton is being in the eating clubs,” says Marco Fossati-Bellani, a president of Colonial Club who graduated in June. “It’s one of the things I’m going to take away from Princeton. I mean, I’m happy I took the classes I did, but everything I did that was fun came through Colonial pretty much.”
Eating-club fun of recent years has gotten out of hand.
Tiger Inn — often called Princeton’s “Animal House” — went dry for nearly two months in 2006 after reports of alcohol abuse and a sexual assault during “pickups” weekend, when, in the culmination to bicker, new members celebrate their initiation. That was the second report that school year of a sexual assault at the club.
“It had gotten to the point where people on Prospect were saying, ‘It’s T.I., what do you expect?’ ” says Hap Cooper, the club’s graduate board president. “That embarrassed them.”
Tiger Inn reopened its taps with new security and alcohol policies, including a buddy system to check on new members and in-house escorts to guide intoxicated students home. In addition, students who misbehave can have privileges restricted.
Some students say the changes have encouraged them to act more responsibly. “Definitely, people have grown up,” says Mr. Morgan of Tiger Inn.
WHILE several members describe bicker as a “G-rated” fraternity rush, with get-to-know-you activities like Taboo and Pictionary, costume wearing, relay races and the telling of funny stories about yourself, others describe a selection process that assesses candidates for wealth, family connections and physical attractiveness.
Woodrow Wilson, who as the university’s president had proposed eliminating eating clubs, declared that the lot of those students who were left out was “a little less than deplorable.” The current president, Shirley M. Tilghman, has criticized the selective clubs for choosing too “homogeneously” and not representing “the spirit of Princeton.” Students themselves have organized boycotts of the system at various times.
If administrators have had differences with the clubs, which are independent of the university, they have come to accept their importance.
Mark Burstein, Princeton’s executive vice president, says he met regularly with club officers and alumni to solicit input and secure their cooperation for the four-year residential colleges. “We see a strong connection to the eating clubs,” he says. “You can’t really separate out entities that are so essential to your student population. I would say that we are part of the same family.”
In the past, the university has covered the cost of a typical meal plan — $4,315 last year, as opposed to the average club fee of $6,300 — for juniors and seniors receiving financial aid. This fall, the university will increase that aid by $2,000. All juniors and seniors can also eat two free meals a week at any residential college. The eating clubs, in turn, have agreed to let about 100 residents of the colleges join a club at a reduced rate. The majority of students, though, will have to choose between the two.
If last spring’s room draw is any indication, there is no shortage of interest in the four-year colleges. Whitman filled quickly — 476 applied for the 204 upperclass spots, with the remaining rooms reserved for about 300 freshmen and sophomores. About 100 juniors and seniors will move into Mathey College in the fall.
Most of the modernist-style Butler is being torn down and rebuilt; the new dorms are to open in fall 2009 to house students for all four years. One evening this past spring, more than 100 past and present residents of Butler gathered to send off the squat, dark-brown buildings, widely considered the ugliest on campus, with a courtyard barbecue featuring drinks and live music. Handout T-shirts mocked the industrial-style ceilings and proclaimed “the end of an era.”
Meg Whitman, an alumna and chief executive officer of eBay, donated $30 million for the construction of Whitman College on a site that once held tennis courts. The eating clubs may find competition in the food stations, which will offer salad, pizza and grilled foods in place of the assembly-line cafeteria service of yore. The dining hall will have booths and smaller tables instead of large ones arranged in long rows. An area will be kept open for late-night snacks.
The colleges also have their own activities budgets and academic faculty advisers, who will be assigned to residents for all four years. The university’s writing program has been relocated to Whitman, where instructors will have offices and meet with students in seminar rooms on the ground floor.
Jennifer Schoppe, who just completed her freshman year in Mathey, says when she arrived at Princeton she assumed she would join an eating club. But Ms. Schoppe, an engineering major, says she is loath to give up the perks of the residential college, including informal lunches with professors and subsidized tickets to the Metropolitan Opera in New York.
“Once you leave the college, it’s not available to you anymore,” she says. “It’s definitely made me think of the options a lot harder.”
Winnie Hu is an education reporter for The Times.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/29/education/edlife/princeton.html?ei=5070&en=4115dd4389a7049c&ex=1186632000&pagewanted=all
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)