Grinnell's Bastion of Journalistic Integrity

Month: April 2023

A Critic’s Review of The Roller Grill

By: Carter Ottele

Jean-Paul Sartre once remarked that “No finite point has meaning without an infinite reference point.” Almost mathematical in its abstrusity, this observation had long plagued my mind as an unsolvable riddle. But when I dined this weekend at The Roller Grill, I gained a deeper understanding of the French existentialist’s words—all the while enjoying a thrilling, delectable meal. 

The Roller Grill marks the latest project by star chef Talia Porcetto. Porcetto—whom The Atlantic has called “the heir-apparent to the Neo-American culinary tradition,” and whom The New York Times has deemed “the country’s most visible restaurateur”—founded The Roller Grill as a counterpoint to her lavish French restaurant Un Poulet Marseillais, which opened in Times Square two weeks prior. Her most recent project matches the caliber and craftsmanship of her former restaurants yet departs from their extravagance; by taking a minimalist approach to fine dining, The Roller Grill spotlights Porcetto’s versatility.

I discovered The Roller Grill tucked in a food court between a fast-casual burger joint and a delicatessen. The food court’s decor blends third-grade-cafeteria chic with nautical Y2K-era futurism, offering ample creative discretion to the restaurants within. A vibrant crowd of local students buzzed around the food court in an excited whisper: in hushed, reverent voices, the patrons weighed their options and extolled the culinary bounty before them. Walking among these students, surrounded by trays and milk glasses and waxy apples, I felt transported to my own childhood. The Roller Grill’s setting brought forth a sentiment of youth.

Grinnell Announces New ‘Shower Swipes’ System

By Dale Bell

COWLES HALL– In a move that’s been lauded as “innovative,” “cost-effective,” and “absolutely inhumane” the Grinnell Administration announced this week that they will be phasing in a new ‘Shower Swipes©’ system in buildings across Grinnell. 

The system, which takes inspiration from DHall’s swipe-based meal setup, is meant to fill the gap in revenue created by a devastating loss in Anne Harris’s biweekly, high stakes, Liberal Arts College presidents-only poker game, where Haverford President Wendy E. Raymond walked away with half of Grinnell’s endowment, Ben Newhouse, and Steiner Hall. FM has already installed card readers outside of each shower stall and Grinnell has implemented several ‘Shower Plans®’ on the housing portal where students can select from a variety of pre-made plans that allot them a certain number of showers per week. 

As of now, the plans are listed as Clean Freak, which allots 12 showers per week, Normal, which allots 7, Unhygienic, which allots 4 and 2 random water-balloon ambushes, Rank, which allots 3, Vile which allots 1 and a hose-off from Campo, and CS Major, a rain-based option, which is free.

The Night The Music Died: Grinnell Hosts Don McLean

By Catherine Terelak

GARDINER LOUNGE– In the past, Grinnell College has hosted spring concerts with such headliners as Lizzo, Soccer Mommy, and Japanese Breakfast. This year, however, no such event will take place. The B&S is disappointed to report that the 2023 Spring Concert Budget was exhausted last weekend, when America’s most beloved one hit wonder Don McLean landed in Grinnell, performed his one song, and disappeared. Here’s how it went down, straight from the mouth of Grinnell’s Bastion of Journalistic Integrity:

After paying his respects at the Buddy Holly Crash Site in quasi-nearby Clear Lake, Iowa, the almost-late great Don McLean arrived on campus on Friday night, guitar in hand. The College was not previously aware of his appearance and thus was not able put him up in Grinnell House or the Country Inn and Suites down the road. McLean, however, was more than willing to take up lodging in the North Campus Loggia. Don McLean was not removed from the premises for the simple fact that he is Don McLean. Batting away a billowing cloud of pot smoke, McLean said to a B&S correspondent on the scene, ‘I love it here. I’m sleeping outside, everyone is dressed badly, and the weed is terrible, not to mention illegal. I feel like I’m back in the winter of seventy-two.’ 

Anyone who talked to McLean for more than two minutes received an earful about the winter of seventy-two, the finest hour of the famous folk rocker’s life, when he was twenty-six years old and well-endowed in the sideburns department and the reigning king of the charts with his nine-minute magnum opus, ‘American Pie.’ Like a narcoleptic for nostalgia, McLean seemed prone to random trances: momentary but completely immersive returns to the winter of seventy-two. ‘Bye, bye, Miss American Pie,’ he whispered occasionally, entering a dreamlike state where his eyes were open but he did not see. ‘Drove my chevy… to the levee… but the levee was dry. Them good old boys… drinking whiskey and rye… singing… this will be the day that I die.’ 

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