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There are many questions I’ve asked myself after a dining hall meal: Where does the Poke bowl fish come from? How many variations of fried rice can South serve in a week? But never once have I left the dining hall wondering, “What are we?” That’s because bonding over aversions to dining hall food doesn’t nearly qualify as a date.

Everyone eats at the dining hall, from the single students to the married professors. Why? We live on a college campus, and everyone has all-day access whenever they please. Even if your date does the chivalrous act of using a meal swipe on you, there are still 249 more where that came from. Going to the dining hall comes as naturally to us as attending class in DeBart. You wouldn’t say that you are on a date with the kid who sits next to you in a lecture, would you? In the same vein, the dining hall is just another necessary means to surviving college. A date should be special. And I promise, no one has ever felt special waiting in line for chicken wings.

I also think we should expect a little … more. Don’t get me wrong, grabbing a meal together is a great way to get to know someone. I mean, how else would you know if he’s a Southwest or a Boom Boom Salad kind of guy? But in the season of love, dates should be planned at places where your date is guaranteed to find a clean fork — I am looking at you, NDH. If you must take your date to the dining hall, at least do it after a home game so they can get some sense of what a candlelit dinner looks like.

Make a reservation, go to Eddy Street, or even just share a meal in your dorm! It doesn’t have to be fancy; just put in more effort than you do for every other meal in college. Effort shows that you care. It shows that you don’t want to take your date to the same place you cried after your Econ exam. You don’t need candles or rose petals, but whatever you plan should feel intentional. Trust me, effort is the best way to boost your chances of a second date.