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Former Canisius guard Zach Lewis to transfer to UMass -

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Letter: Deflate-Gate, where’s the air? -

Monday, May 18, 2015

Derrick Gordon announces he will transfer to Seton Hall -

Sunday, May 17, 2015

UMass baseball closes season out with series victory over George Mason -

Sunday, May 17, 2015

UMass to allow four student businesses to accept Dining Dollars next year -

Saturday, May 16, 2015

UMass baseball stymied by John Williams in loss to George Mason -

Friday, May 15, 2015

Jury sentences Tsarnaev to death -

Friday, May 15, 2015

Stop ignoring your white privilege -

Thursday, May 14, 2015

UMass basketball scheduled for showdown with Ole Miss in 2015 Holiday Showcase game -

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Letter: Wall is a regression towards racial inequality -

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

UMass falls to Fairfield in extra innings in final home game -

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

UMass basketball recruit Marcquise Reed chooses Clemson -

Monday, May 11, 2015

UMass baseball drops Senior Day rubber match against URI -

Monday, May 11, 2015

Letter: Shocked at radio host’s ban from WMUA -

Monday, May 11, 2015

UMass women’s lacrosse falls in second round of NCAA tournament against top-seeded Maryland -

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Neil deGrasse Tyson: ‘It’s okay not to know’ -

Friday, May 8, 2015

Defense, Eipp’s five goals lead UMass women’s lacrosse past Jacksonville in NCAA tournament -

Friday, May 8, 2015

Quianna Diaz-Patterson closes book on historic senior season, successful career for UMass softball -

Friday, May 8, 2015

UMass men’s lacrosse overcomes early struggles to make 2015 playoff run -

Thursday, May 7, 2015

UMass softball fails to reach expectations in up-and-down 2015 season -

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

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Franklin stir fry: risk and reward

Taylor C. Snow/Collegian

As I enter Franklin Dining Commons, the stench hits me. A combination of sweet, sour and saltiness, infamously known as the “Frank Stank” seeps up through my nostrils and begins to fry my brain. But I trek up the carpeted ramp, willing to sacrifice my stomach to sure indigestion.

So, where does this smell originate? It certainly does not come from the pasta, sandwich or salad bars. All one needs to do is search for the cloud of steam arising from the campus-side of Frank: the stir-fry station.

There are two questions I must ask myself before venturing over to the line: Have I eaten yet today? Have I showered yet today? If the answer to both questions is no, I will proceed at my own risk.

First I choose my veggies, because, of course, veggies will automatically make any meal a healthy one. I wait for a frying pan to open up, during which time I consume more than half of the peppers, peas and water chestnuts that I had just placed on my tea saucer-size plate, but it’s too late to backtrack for more.

The cook dumps the veggies into the empty pan, adds garlic, chicken and a heaping pile of egg noodles. She asks me a question. I don’t understand a single word, and ask her to repeat. Her response is still incomprehensible, so I answer, “yes,” politely. She produces the result from four plastic squeeze-bottles: fountains of hoisin,  teriyaki and oyster sauces, along with a a splash sesame oil. Dear God, will my taste buds survive this combination of brown sodium-laden liquid?

Then, she quips a short one-word question: “Spicy?”

The most impactful, perhaps harmful decision comes here: Do I take the risk of adding more flavors to my meal only to end my afternoon with an explosive result?

“Just a little,” I reply; to which she adds a heaping spoonful of chili paste. This will not end well.

I carry the food back to my seat, dodging the odorous steam arising from the plate, so my classmates do not have to suffer from the ghastly scent that it surely will implant into my skin.

No matter, I purposefully wore an old sweatshirt and sweatpants – my usual Franklin gear – which I planned to change out of and possibly torch immediately following my meal.

As I take my first bite, the flavor is overwhelming: much better than the smell. The spiciness bites at the back of my nose, reminding me of what is soon to come. I make it most of the way through the meal, but not even my empty stomach can handle the entire mountainous pile of food. A few noodle strands and peas remain, which my chopsticks could not conquer. I stand up and walk out, surely reeking of the food I just consumed.

I walk back across the street to my dorm, my stomach furiously gurgling in response to the decision I just made. But it’s done.

Thirty minutes later, my digestive system gets its payback. I vow to never return to the stir-fry station, but I know I’ll be back, and my intestines will scream bloody murder yet again.

Taylor Snow is a Collegian columnist. He can be reached at tsnow@dailycollegian.com.

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