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Another person who gets short shrift in the acknowledgments of Forking Fantastic! is Barton Rouse. He was the chef at Terrace Club, the place I ate in college. That college was Princeton, and, yes, it's a world-class educational institution and I feel very lucky to have attended, but sweet Jesus, did I feel out of step in that preppie kingdom in central New Jersey.
I hailed from New Mexico (geographic affirmative action, most certainly), and had never even before set eyes on the glossy, worldly New England prep school kids, who strode around campus like royalty. (Even worse, I didn't discover until my junior year, was that half of those apparently entitled kids were actually on as much financial aid as I was.)
Terrace "Flaming" Club was the antidote. The place was refreshingly frumpy and democratic. It was a tony-sounding "eating club" like all the others that ruled Princeton's social scene, but membership was by random selection, not interview. Where other clubs had waiters, high-shine wood paneling and antiques on display in the library, we had fellow students in pink hairnets serving us food on a cafeteria line, saggy secondhand sofas and a pinball machine.















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