Lies About Name ‘21

Yup, this is ACTUALLY a food item.

Campus Police were called onto a certain substance free third hall on Belk this past weekend, in response to what was described in their report asof: cries of great anguish, curses levied against ancestral families, and scents of shit being lit on fire. This freshman hall, once a stalwart of calm academic discussion, was in momentous riot. What had been the beginnings of a quiet Friday night had descended into unmitigated chaos by the introduction of a hall GroupMe poll about the best of Vail Commons’s original Scoopie dessert.

         The Scoopie perhaps needs no introduction, for it is the most famous and culinarily important culination to come from the great minds that also give you potato coins; but nevertheless, here is a little rundown. The aforementioned dessert descends from the Pennsylvanian Dutch tradition of Schokoladenmehlschaufelbarennachtischen. It was brought to Davidson in the 1890s, when the former French chef, Luc Atmaqoque, was dismissed for an affair that the Board of Trustees labelled to be sealed for the next 200 years. After Luc’s dismissal, Davidson managed to wrangle Ben Dover, an American from Lancaster, who’d spent two years in the kitchens of Escoffier at the Savoy. With him, he brought the dessert that would put Davidson on the Michelin Map. The original recipe was for an M&M Scoopie, but over time, the masterminds at Vail have expanded their repertoire, going for such classics as their Turkey and Cranberry Thanksgiving Scoopie, Beer and Bratwurst Oktoberfest Scoopie, Brownie Scoopie, and the classic Artichoke Dip Scoopie.

         The history of the Scoopie has not always been such smooth sailing. In 2016, a student was brought before the Honor Code tribunal for taking the entire Scoopie bowl in Vail and consuming it on their own. Unbeknownst to them, the Board of Trustees had the strength and foresight to deal with this inevitable situation. When Mr. Dover was hired in 1894, realizing the startling potential of his dessert, they made certain regulations surrounding his masterpiece. As a result, the poor student was side-hammered with the most famous punishment of all time.

         This wasn’t even the first time that the Scoopie had provoked mis-aligned behavior. Under the watchful eye of President David Grier Martin in 1968, Davidson students illegally copied the recipe for the Brownie Scoopie and began producing low-quality knock offs that were sold in the alleyways of Charlotte. Realizing the increasing plumpness of Charlotte’s banker population, police immediately suspected Davidson, and some scholars argue that the ensuing scandal is what caused Dr. Martin to relieve himself of his duties at the college.

         All of these minor hiccups pale in comparison to the Davidson College Affair of 1987. For years, the event was whispered in hush tones throughout the college. Outbreaks of rumors every few months caused the faculty of Davidson to install a 33-year long ban on the topic, but as the red tape has been unsealed, we can finally understand the full story. In October of 1987, Commons decided to unveil their latest creation, the Spare Parts Scoopie. A genial combination of pork intestines with an Oreo and fudge base, the whispers of raw anticipation resounded through the halls of Chambers and all those other ones. However, in the middle of the night, two members of Davidson’s least favorite fraternity crept into the dining hall and replaced the prepared dessert with their own very personal recipe: baked sh*t. School was shut down for the rest of the semester as the FDA investigated and charged Davidson with extremely gross negligence. Yet, in a testament to how quickly Davidson forgets, next semester resumed as normal, the Scoopie was back as top dessert dog (although less experimental), and the fraternity escaped unscathed.

         So, dear first years, we thank you for your continued important contribution to the history of our beloved dessert. Your serious debate will remain in the annals of Scoopie Scholarship.