The world has changed a lot since I was a student. Where I was content to eat dubious spaghetti Bolognese and a particular toasted sandwich that involved garlic salami, cheese and ketchup - much better than it sounds, by the way - I suspect that many third-levellers these days use baby spinach and sourdough bruschetta as soakage.
In those days the food at commons, the formal evening meal in the dining hall at Trinity College in Dublin, was the worst I had ever encountered, but I had yet to go to work in a boarding school where many of the inmates lived on sliced pan and Mars bars rather than face the grub. The Trinity academics at high table always looked as if they were enjoying themselves, and I'm still not sure if their food was better or if they got a great deal more alcohol, from the venerable cellar, than what was contained in our tumbler of Guinness.
University College Cork has entrusted the provision of food on its delightful campus to the Kylemore group, which probably makes sense in that it will be one less headache for the college. However, I wonder how wise it was to include Café Glucksman in the deal.
This modern, cool and crisp room is part of the striking Lewis Glucksman Gallery. It has a touch of Dublin's Eden but without the height, and it has a better, greener view. All in all, a delightful place in which to sit and eat your lunch.
Unless, of course, you are forced to eat what Kylemore seems to regard as appropriate fodder. Here are a few observations about Café Glucksman that should act as warning signs.
First of all, the menu is printed. Not from a PC but on card. In other words, it doesn't change much. Secondly - and this is truly bizarre in a university, the natural habitat of principled herbivores - you will search in vain for a vegetarian dish. Yes, indeed, in 2008, in a university, in one of the best bits of contemporary architecture that you're likely to see.
But it gets worse. Maybe you can afford to wipe the eye of the vegetarian tendency (although I doubt it very much), but can you justify the absence of any local produce? There isn't even a bit of Clonakilty pudding, whatever about Sally Barnes's impeccably smoked seafood or Fingal Ferguson's charcuterie.
For heaven's sake, someone could hoof it down to the English Market and get some terrine from On the Pig's Back. And there are dozens of organic growers within spitting distance.
But, no, what you get is a menu that could come from anywhere. Well, anywhere that doesn't like vegetarians, I suppose.
We didn't feel like probing very deeply, confining ourselves to a couple of mains. A hamburger in a large bun with salad and some form of relish looked quite good, but the meat had that curiously unattractive texture that suggests it had been not so much minced as extruded. Chunky crisp chips were fine.
A so-called Caesar salad was not a thing of great joy. The real deal involves cos leaves, a particular dressing, Parmesan and croutons. Here it contains, inter alia, bacon. You can have chicken as an add-on. All in all, not so much a Caesar salad as a a kind of busy salad. And there were no croutons, for some reason.
Neither of these main courses delivered any real pleasure or required much effort to make. Yet, despite pleasant service, the kitchen took just over half an hour to produce them.
What is UCC thinking of? It has a delightful room with a pleasant view, plus a captive audience of people who, one imagines, don't get frightened at the thought of real food. There are probably dozens of young chefs who would love to do something really good here, and, when it opened first, it was run by a Ballymaloe graduate who, by all accounts, created the kind of menu that such a place should have.
Café Glucksman, the Lewis Glucksman Gallery, University College Cork, 021-4901848, www.glucksman.org
A short selection is available both by the bottle and by the glass. Bodegas Lan Rioja Crianza (€26.20/€5.20) is a lovely smooth red, nicely oaked. Torres Santa Digna Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon and Reserve Sauvignon Blanc (both €29.35/€6.10) are very modern, fruit-driven Chileans. "Specially selected" organic wines from southern France include a pleasant and chunky Syrah-Mourvèdre and a rather flat Rousanne-Muscat, both at €23.95 a bottle or €6.10 for a glass. I don't know why customers are penalised for having these by the glass, given that a glass of the Lan Rioja, which is dearer by the bottle, is €5.20.