This month marks 20 years since I arrived at university in London, with an Ikea saucepan set, a six-pack of Pot Noodle and a trusty jar of pesto to my name. I was a student now, and I intended to eat like one.
But what did that mean? Where to my parents “student food” had hippyish connotations – lentils and ancient grains, communal pots of unidentifiable greige – by 2006 the stereotype had evolved to mean convenience and speed. Frozen pizza, potato waffles, mountains of pesto pasta – if we were eating at all, that is. As a 2000s girl with a 2000s diet mentality, I’ll admit that part of me hoped university would mark a turning point where I started having so much fun that I forgot to think about food. No such luck. What followed instead were probably the most formative eating years of my life; I don’t remember a single line of Beowulf, but those early tastes of independence are seared into my memory for ever.
