Watching Krystal order brunch has got to be the funniest thing ever. It started with the seating.

“Emril? Hi, yeah, it’s me. I know, I know, but a friend wants to eat at school so that’s why I’m calling. Okay, I would like the Jung Room prepared for two, still and sparkling with lemon in each pitcher, and jasmine. We’ll be up shortly,” Krystal chirps into her phone.

You have no idea what she’s talking about but figure she’ll explain once she’s done.

“Hey, sorry about that. I was just setting up our table and stuff,” she says by way of explanation.

“What’s up with the Jung Room and jasmine? I assume you got us different waters? And who’s Emril?”

She stuffs her phone into her pocket and smiles at you.

“Well, my dad donated to the school and they named a private room in the dining hall after him. Emril’s sort of a butler I guess? He just helps out with small things like setting up the room. And yes, I can’t live without my Perrier or my jasmine hand towels. You should know this! Aren’t you premed? Gotta wash your hands before you eat!” she giggles.

You shake your head, dumbstruck.

“Well, I use the poor version of jasmine scented hand towels, A.K.A. I use my tongue to wash my hands.”

Krystal breaks out into a smile and smacks your arm.

“Oh my God you’re disgusting! Thank goodness we’ll have hand towels because I can’t trust anything you touch now.”

You like this easy banter. She’s actually pretty fun to talk to and can take a joke, which is more than you can say for most people you’ve met at college.

You two arrive at the front of the dining hall where an elegantly dressed man in a tuxedo welcomes you inside. You follow him up a flight of stairs away from the main banquet hall and into an archaic looking loft. Muted conversation drifts up from the stairwell but otherwise the place is enchantingly silent. Golden motes of dust dance through the air as you walk through the arches lining the room. At the end of the hall, there’s a heavy wooden door with a great bronze plaque that reads: K. Jung Room of Reflection.

“Are you a Mulan fan?” you shoot at Krystal.

“Hell yeah! She’s the most badass princess out of all of them! And nice pun!”

You grin as Emril ushers you both inside. There’s a tiny round table surrounded by four chairs in the room, and nothing else. On the table, as per Krystal’s request, two crystal decanters of water sit, bubbles sparkling in the right one. Perfectly circular lemon slices float on top of the water. The table is immaculately set for two, and the smell of jasmine perfumes the room. Emril is a master.

“The chef is waiting. Shall I send him in?” Emril asks Krystal.

“Please. And, thank you for setting this up with such short notice.”

“My pleasure. May I present to you, Monsieur Jean Pierre.”

Emril is replaced by a short man decked in white. He bounces forward on his toes and kisses Krystal on both cheeks.

“Mademoiselle! You look more lovely each time I meet you! What will you have today?”

Krystal looks at you.

“Uh, could I get some cereal? And milk?”

You can’t help feeling defensive under Krystal’s disbelieving stare.

“What? I like cereal!”

“Amber, we are doing brunch. This is not your middle school breakfast. Seriously!”

You sweat, trying to remember any fancy food that sounds remotely French.

“Could I have French toast? And a baguette?”

“Jesus Christ Amber you can’t carb load in the morning! I’m so sorry Jean, but my friend’s just being silly. Please surprise us!” Kry