Caius has a reputation, and not a flattering one: terrible tagines, raw ribs, and hall food so bad it once spawned the Instagram account @caiusfoodisshit. According to one confidential informant, though, Caius isn’t alone. (“The meat at Selwyn is usually undercooked.”) Across Cambridge, bad hall food is a grim but familiar part of student life – fodder for complaints, in-jokes, and the occasional social media post. But poor college food is about more than taste, particularly when it’s nutritionally inadequate. You are, after all, what your college feeds you.

What we are fed matters. A 2017 study linked diet quality to improved memory, attention, and academic performance – the last of which is crucial in a university as academically demanding as Cambridge. Yet hall food often falls short of the nutritional standards set by the NHS Eatwell Guide, with vegetarians and vegans bearing the brunt. Take protein – essential for muscle maintenance, metabolism, and immune function. The British Nutrition Foundation recommends that adults consume 45-55g of protein each day. But at Caius on Monday, the meat option – a 200g chicken breast – contained roughly 60g of protein, while the vegetarian alternative, one of the college’s infamous tagines with a token scattering of chickpeas, offered closer to 6g.

“One ‘bad’ meal may not matter; years of them do”

Fibre is another neglected nutrient. A 2015 report by the Scientific Advisory Committee on Nutrition linked higher fibre intake to lower risks of cardiovascular disease, type 2 diabetes, stroke, and colorectal cancer. Government guidelines recommend 30g a day, yet since fibre comes largely from wholegrains and pulses, college meals built around refined carbohydrates make that target harder to meet. One ‘bad’ meal may not matter; years of them do.

Yet the more troubling issue is not simply poor food, but unequal food provision across colleges. Cambridge colleges vary enormously in wealth: in 2018, Trinity’s endowment stood at a staggering £1.4 billion, compared with Clare Hall’s measly £33 million. That does not automatically mean richer colleges spend more on students, or specifically on food, but it does raise questions on how resources are allocated. If colleges have millions in annual income generated by their endowments, why does hall food remain so poor – and why does its quality vary so drastically between colleges? The result is a form of food inequality, where access to nutritious meals depends in part on college wealth. And when this access shapes students’ health and wellbeing, it is no longer merely culinary bad luck.

“If students are compelled to spend a minimum amount, it is only reasonable to expect colleges to meet a minimum nutritional standard in return”

Beyond disparities in wealth between colleges, there is also a disparity in cost. Students pay very different prices for very different food. At Caius, a hall meal costs £6.09 – a steep price for food that is, by general consensus, grim, especially when better meals can be found elsewhere for the same price or less. A Sainsbury’s meal deal, for comparison, is £3.50; it is hardly a model of perfect nutrition, but that is precisely the point. If students are paying significantly more than supermarket prices for college food, they should be able to expect something better in nutrition, quality, and taste.

The problem does not end at price. Many colleges require students to fork over money for catering before term has even begun. At Caius, this takes the form of the Minimum Dining Requirement (MDR), which costs students £633 across the 2025–26 academic year. Other colleges operate similar schemes: at Fitzwilliam, for example, students pay a Kitchen Fixed Charge of £115 to help cover “the overhead costs of the college catering operation”. By requiring students to pay upfront for hall food or catering services, colleges effectively push them towards college meals – and then too often deliver food that is subpar. If students are compelled to spend a minimum amount, it is only reasonable to expect colleges to meet a minimum nutritional standard in return.

There is, arguably, an element of personal responsibility here. Colleges are not solely responsible for ensuring that students eat a healthy, balanced diet; students are expected to make sensible choices and, where possible, cook for themselves. But it is not that straightforward. The ability to self-cater varies drastically across colleges because cooking facilities do too. At Caius, many gyps lack ovens, hobs, or freezers altogether. Girton, in contrast, offers a fridge, freezer, oven, microwave, hob, and even an air fryer. Without those appliances, cooking healthy meals becomes far more difficult, pushing students towards quicker, more limited, and often less healthy options. Access to cooking, then, is not equal across the University – and neither is students’ ability to take responsibility for their diets.

Students are charged for food, steered towards hall, and not always equipped to opt out. The result is an overlooked but important inequality: access to healthy meals depends too heavily on the college a student attends. There is a Great Hall Divide. Until that changes, only one option remains: eat, pray, complain.