“What the heck is vegan chick’n?” “Not paninis again tonight.” “These burger patties look like cardboard.”
Members of the TMM editorial board often overhear complaints about Forbes dining. Our boarder editors are also well-acquainted with the prevalent aversion to dorm dinner meals. Though we generally agree that dining has improved since we arrived at Milton, it seems Forbes dining remains a subject of complaint.
We, at Milton, dish complaints with ease—without an attempt to understand the rationale behind current systems. We criticize “boring” assembly speakers before we try to engage. Many choose to complain as deadlines pile up instead of asking for extensions when necessary. One of the most important takeaways from a Milton education is self-advocacy: the crucial skill of learning to speak up for oneself or ask for help. But rather than bringing our critiques to those with authority, we echo them to one another. We confuse commentary for contribution. If Milton truly aims to teach us to be outspoken leaders capable of enacting change, then the challenge is not learning to raise our voices: it’s learning to use them for something greater than complaint.
The dining menus are not determined by some unknown entity: they’re curated by Skikas, who welcomes and encourages student feedback. Aramark Management Team managers actively seek out ways to improve the dining experience by stocking Forbes with written commentary slips or placing QR codes to feedback forms on tables. In addition, the Dining Council is a group of students who meet monthly with the Boarding Monitors and Skikas to offer suggestions and input concerning all facets of Milton dining: from the salinity of our rice to dorm dinner meals to dessert options. This year, the council received a meager five sign-ups—a stark underrepresentation of the complaints the editorial board observes. Why don’t students take advantage of these vessels to enact change? Want more General Tso’s, for instance? Suggest that to the individuals with power. Or, better yet, become one.
Our complaints are problematic because they ignore not only the institutions in place for improving Forbes dining, but also the context of our complaint. As some of us roll our eyes at our three all-you-can-eat meals, millions beyond our white fences suffer from food insecurity. This Monday, the Trump administration announced that, due to the government shutdown, the government will pay only half of Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) benefits to the US’s 47.1 million recipients, most of whom rely on the program to supply their monthly nutrition. Now, these 40 million will struggle even more to fulfill this basic human need. According to the Dorchester Reporter on November 1, more than 140,000 Bostonians have been impacted, a majority coming from Dorchester, Mattapan, Hyde Park, and Roxbury.
Unaffected, we at Milton treat our meals as “givens” every day, living in disregard of both where our food comes from and where it goes. Data collected by Linnea Engstrom from Sustainability reflects an alarming amount of leftover Forbes food— both those untouched in aluminum containers and those scraped off the plate. Last year, Juni Brewster ‘24 initiated a program with food-waste non-profit Rescuing Leftover Cuisine (RLC) to repurpose our untouched, leftover food. Over the academic year, Milton donated 4,228 pounds of food to RLC, pointing towards another urgent issue of food catered to us which we leave unattended. We also leave scattered meal remnants in the dining hall after each meal, further contributing to our food waste issue—a burden for which Skikas, along with other dining staff, becomes responsible.
Even the food that we do pile onto our plates, however, will wind up as waste. In the 2024–25 school year, Forbes and Elliot Dining Halls yielded a combined 33.34 tons of compost waste (which we dispose of into the green compost bin)—equivalent to the weight of a male sperm whale. Each meal, we see students apathetically sliding some equivalent of half-bitten burgers or scraps of chicken into the green bins. Though these scraps typically head toward the compost, according to Director of Dining Services Jennifer Skikas, all the waste from the current school year has been too contaminated to be composted. Engstrom gives us an easy solution to this common mishap: “when in doubt, throw it out— in the normal, grey trashcan, that is.”
It is evident that the neglect of our privilege is two-part: not only do we rarely have to think about where our next meal is coming from, but we also have the choice among a variety of options. We cannot persist with this passive complaint of Milton dining. To recognize our privilege isn’t to feel guilty for it, but to stay engaged with it. There are simple steps we must all take: participate properly in our annual Hunger Banquet (which takes place next Thursday), be considerate of what we dispose of into the compost, and eschew spilling food on the counter. Your dislike of the food does not justify your carelessness, as Milton welcomes your feedback, good and bad. When we ignore the opportunities to provide constructive criticism and instead create a culture in which it’s acceptable or even encouraged to complain, we collectively decide to tune out from our power to make change, perpetuating this problematic apathy toward the privilege on our plates.