The First Word on the Faculty Club

Wow--how bad is the economy really??  Apparently pretty bad.  The University's been taking such extreme measures as eliminating the January Experience and acknowledging the possibility of layoffs.  But forget about all that.  The real sign of the apocalypse?  Opening the doors of the exclusive Faculty Club to the riffraff ordinary students.  Now, far be it from FlyBy to draw a link between the economic situation and a bunch of grubby freshmen descending on old Abbot Lawrence Lowell's little gem.  But the question remains, is the "Special Invitation" to "come, celebrate, network, and relax" a worthwhile endeavor for non-members?

FlyBy decided to take immediate advantage of the opportunity to get a glimpse into the lifestyles of the rich, prestigious, and "uniquely Harvard" among us. Only a Harvard ID card and a lunch reservation were necessary—find out more after the jump!

The journey into the mysterious and inacessible Faculty Club begins rather as one would expect. The entrance area gives a distinct impression of old money, or—like at a final club—money that extends beyond the means of ordinary students. A large percentage of the inhabiting population is made up of older men in sport jackets, many of whom seem to know each other. A piano is conveniently located in the back—probably to make the room seem inviting.  Really, it functions as a reminder of just how wealthy the Club is (used to be?). Points to whoever is first to pound out a gut-wrenching rendition of "Chopsticks."

After the entrance area, an immediate turn to the right will bring you to the Main Dining Room, where a reservation is key—but these can be made online with no inquiries as to membership status or Harvard affiliation. After a few questions about the reasons for being there, FlyBy was directed to this area to wait to be seated. All staff members were very polite, but FlyBy still felt some skepticism under there. Jeans and backpacks, while standard college student attire, are not included in the dress code at the Faculty Club.  Take note.

FlyBy was seated alone in the corner of the Dining Room near the maitre'd—a decent vantage point, to be sure, but one that is tucked away from view of other tables. The level of service easily surpasses that of HUDS, who won't do you the courtesy of taking your coat, placing your bag inconveniently behind your chair, or pushing you closer to the table while asking if you're comfortable. But how about the food? After all the FOOD (and spaces that serve it) are supposed to be the attractant. What student will go for the overnight accommodations when he or she lives two blocks away?

Armed with a $15 budget, FlyBy had to choose carefully from the menu. There is a buffet available, but at $21.75 is hardly the most economical of options. Unlike Harvard Dining, only the rich get to eat all that they want here. The menu says NO TIPPING in large letters near the bottom, which will make stingy college students breath a sigh of relief, but then the fine print underneath says that there is a surcharge of 18 percent! Even if your party is less than six people! Sneaky, indeed.

To accomodate this obnoxious expense situation, the smoked turkey club sandwich with fries seemed like an appealing option. The Thursday Chef's Special, London Broil with mushroom sauce, was tempting but would probably lead to a longer, less efficient lunch. And Harvard students can't be bothered to wait for their food. After ordering the former, service took 13 minutes to deliver, which is just enough time to skim over those lecture notes or memorize a few foreign language vocabulary words.

The sandwich was of elevated quality because of the smoked turkey breast; otherwise it's probably best to just make your own at the dhall and not spend 12 bucks on it. The fries were more like potato wedges with crispy exteriors. The servers spare the indignity of having to request ketchup, as they are kind enough to bring it out with the plate.

After a total of $14.25 and 30 minutes, the Faculty Club dining experience came to an end. A worthwhile adventure, but probably not worth blocking out a regular spot in one's schedule. Unless you are already as rich and pretentious as the target market, not much is to be gained from a visit other than a decent meal and a chance to practice some over-the-top politeness. And of course, the realization that you don't want to be these people in 30 years. Unless you do.