It is with deep sorrow that I announce the passing of a beloved treasure of the Providence community. Taken before her time, on the morning of the 28th of January, Bolt Cafe’s signature grain bowl – a cherished blend of quinoa and various greens – was discontinued. The news has sent the Brown and RISD student bodies reeling. “Terrible. Disaster. Tragedy.” RISD’s Oscar DeBesche `29 mourned over a forlorn-looking oat matcha, I muttered under hushed breath: “Is it true?” The barista’s gait instantly shifted into a pre-battle stance. Shuffling around the cashier, she sternly recited a well-rehearsed justification: “We’re at too high a volume to prepare the heated grain bowl for everyone. This way, people have to wait less and it takes less time to make.” – anonymous pink-haired Bolt Barista who will not look me in the eye. A small piece of solace she provided was that at least this cold bowl would be available after kitchen hours…the kitchen at Bolt closes at two. I returned to my seat, staggering. What was I to do? Where was I to go? If I couldn’t have my grain bowl, there was nothing left for me. With a wistful glance over my shoulder, I left Bolt broken-hearted and empty-stomached. +++ Coping has been hard. Once one has tasted the grain bowl, one cannot go back to avocado toasts. All other brunch options felt bland and traitorous in my mouth. This menu change was not just been a blow to my system, but to my routine. Going to Bolt is about more than just the food, or the coffee, or the insane pastries that are available for even less time than the food from the kitchen – which closes at fucking two. Bolt is a ritual. Sometimes referred to as The RISD cafe, or for some reason as Café Pearl on Google Maps, the Benefit St café has been a pillar of culinary sanctuary for Brown and RISD students alike. Where else can the caffeine-longing youth go to sit with their work up on their computers and not do it? Situated just next to the RISD museum, Bolt has the air of being somewhat sophisticated and cultured, with artsy-ness oozing by osmosis into the food. Every now and then, a bolt-goer may pick up a postcard from the museum stand, or stop and look at the poster of what is in the gallery as they leave. I have been inside the gallery one time. Elena Salfiti and her sister wake up at 8AM on rotation to snag the coveted corner table with the charging outlet. The avid Bolt attendee gave her testimony regarding the cafe’s recent changes: “I wake up every day and I really struggle to get up. Cause it's cold, and Ratty food sucks and I have work to do for a major that I don’t like. The thing that gets me out of bed every morning is the Bolt matcha. I do 90% of my socializing in Bolt. It’s a tight-knit community.” This tight-knit community has been ransacked. “I’ve been thinking about it [(the grain bowl]) every day since it was taken off the menu,” said Jula Muzyczyszyn’27 who is always sat at one of the two-person tables at the heart of the café. “It’s just the fact that I can’t have it if I wanted to.” “I am pro carrots usually, but not over brussel sprouts. And I will die on that hill.” – Manuela Sepulveda `RISD 27 “I heard that, if you know how to ask for them, they still have a stash of the brussel sprouts in the back.” – anonymous whisper from a dark corner of the café. Some have taken matters into their own hands. “I think I’ve been cooking more as a result of this. It’s really restructured my whole life.” Inez Sawiris, Brown ’24 claims. She’s slowly been learning to craft a recipe in her kitchen to fill the bowl-shaped hole of that which was taken from her. “I think I’ve figured out the sauce. It’s tahini and maple syrup.” The floundering of the Bolt-going community left me outraged. How could these colourful-haired baristas who drew little hearts on our coffee cups be the same ruthless villains robbing us faithful customers of our ritual? The bowl’s loss had swept a rug out from under me. Left blindsided and betrayed, I unfollowed Bolt on Instagram. I desperately sought alternatives. I tried everything. I tried Dave’s. Nothing could replace the delectable warmth and familiarity of my beloved bowl. Even Bolt’s breakfast sandwich was stained with infidelity. Part of me couldn’t fully accept that it was really gone. My subconscious still clung to the messianic future I’d imagined of its return. One day the bowl would come back. I just had to hold out and believe and after a while, I’d be rewarded. Eventually, I surrendered. I gradually started returning to Bolt just for the atmosphere and the matcha, shooting disdainful glances at the ignorant customers ordering the new so-called grainbowl. How dare this forgery deface its name! I fasted and suffered in the name of loyalty, but after days of resistance, temptation bested me. I ordered the bowl. Opening the plastic ‘grab and go’ packaging with a scoff, I observed the new contents warily. It looked like my old bowl, it smelt like my old bowl – with the trace of tahini and maple wafting into my withdrawal-shaking nostrils–, but would it taste the same? In a secluded corner of the café, I ate. Defeat. It honestly, was lowkey not that different. Bamboozled, embarrassed, and conflicted, I finished the whole thing. This is not a story of loss. This is a story of resilience, self-reflection, and healing. The real question is not—as Katy Perry posits—hot or cold. Nor is it brussel sprouts or carrots, but whether we, as humans, are too stuck in our ways, too stubbornly loyal to routine to allow ourselves new forms of happiness. As I consumed the disfigured bowl, I began to observe the hamartia of my own pride. The great is the enemy of the good. My memory of perfection impeded me from accepting the decent. Instead, I had foolishly chosen the self-inflicted punishment of no Bolt at all. Of Dave’s. How long will someone hold out before they give in? How long do we thrash and struggle until we adapt? As I sat there, spooning the remnants of my cold concoction, I conceded that embracing the new need not be a betrayal of the past, but a push to explore new horizons. “Carrots are good for your eyesight?” – Inez Sawiris. So, my fellow Bolt-going comrades, let us unite not in sorrow but in perseverance. The next time life throws you carrots, ask for them on the side, do not disregard the whole bowl of experience. Because if there’s one thing we can take away from this culinary catastrophe, it’s that even amidst loss, there is growth – and life is too short not to go to Bolt

— By Rose Farman-Farma