When I found out that I'd be living in the Foster Mods for my last year at Brandeis, I was overjoyed. It was as close to living in the real world as I could get before having to deal with a landlord. Living in a Mod means freedom, walking across a sometimes dangerous street, and, above all, a kitchen.It was the latter that quickly turned sour for me. Over the summer I had dreams of baking Mexican casserole or, as I like to call it, Mexican Surprise. Pans full of spinach frittata were but a twinkle in my eye, and I could almost reach out and touch the steaming apple pies cooling on the windowsill of my brain.

And then I realized I wasn't capable of any of these culinary daydreams. Still, I figured I could rely on my friends to cook for me. I come out on top when a suitemate decides to bake a Funfetti cake. Since we decided to buy our own food to ban any confusion as to who pays for what, I am responsible for finishing an entire loaf of bread before it goes moldy. It's a tall order.

Sometimes, though, I get to indulge in a dinner that someone else is cooking. One especially baking-inclined suitemate experiments with all types of pasta, sauces and meats. After a week or so of mooching off these meals, I started to feel guilty and decided to take matters into my own hands. While she would eat spaghetti and meat sauce, I microwaved half a mug of baked beans. Delicious baked beans, mind you, but nonetheless, I felt like a regular Oliver Twist, watching my suitemate feast upon a giant bowl of pasta, peas and sauces galore while I blew on my bubbling beans, dreaming of better times.

I balanced out my meal with a sandwich of sliced turkey, broken slices of muenster cheese and one too many bread and butter pickles, which I have become determined to finish after foolishly buying a gigantic jar. Sometimes I just sit myself down and eat until I'm convinced that there is a noticeable dent in the volume of pickle slices. Just one week into school, these seemingly innocent pickles are the bane of my existence, taunting me with their never-ending abundance. And try as my housemates might to convince me that the pickles will last a lot longer than my bread, I still have nightmares of them losing their crunch, being totally unfit for a sandwich and succumbing to a horrific squeaky softness.

Trips to Hannaford have become as common as brushing my teeth. Whenever anyone with a car is heading in that direction, I take advantage of the ride and buy a new box of cereal or another frozen burrito. My stomach wouldn't know what to do with a fresh vegetable by now. I fear I might instantly vomit, as my body would want to reject the foreign piece of green. I do indulge in an apple every now and then, as the ones in the fridge are quickly developing soft spots.

Juice is hard to come by because it's seen as fair game in the suite and a container of it is generally fleeting.

It's been just a few days into school, and so far I have yet to develop a nutrient deficiency. Until I do, I heartily recommend my pickle and bean diet. The juicy pickles eliminate thirst, therefore saving money on juice, and the beans will give you all the fiber you need. Plus, their maple sweetness eradicates the need for dessert. And when you bore of the baked variety, I suggest switching to refried for a little while. Throw some cheese and olives on a spread of that, melt it in the micro and you have a meal fit for a bean-eating king.

I have to admit that sometimes I reminisce on the good old days of Usdan and Sherman meals. Underclassmen: Until you're forced to succumb to a bizarre Mods diet, treasure your meal plans and, above all, the salad bar.