Broke-ass student recipes

Sara Brinkac // Columns Editor

Tricia Tang // Illustrator


Hi there folks. Welcome back to a special spooky edition of The Starving Artist. October is in the air (and on our calendars), Hallows’ Eve draws ever closer, and our tummies demand that our craving for the freaky be satiated through digestive means. Well, your tummies are in luck. I have traveled many miles for this recipe. Traversing the lower mainland, hanging out behind dumpsters, looking at people intensely on the bus, all to study the weird flavour combinations of our tired city. This recipe is a little ditty from a person named Jacob. A few things you need to know about them before we begin. 1. Jacob lives without internet or TV 2. Jacob prides themself in their cooking and baking ability and 3. Jacob refuses to see how this recipe may be weird. 


Personally, when I unearthed this recipe from the dark annals of weird, I was horrified. So utterly spooked by what this flavour combination could mean for the mental health of our society, I seriously questioned whether it was worth sharing. But above a human, I am a Capilano Courier writer, bound by the sacred oath of honesty. It is a matter I don’t take lightly, and one I hope readers don’t underestimate. So, prepare your stomachs for this terrifying treat and if this is too scary for you — just remember — you can’t sue me, I have mob connections. 


The Spooky Spicy Saltine Surprise


Cost of Meal: $0.78 and permanently altered brain chemistry


A pack of Saltine Crackers

1 jar of Marmite 

1 Container of mustard (Preferably dijon, get a little classy with it)




  1. Wait until midnight before you begin to prepare this meal. Or, at the very least, close all your blinds and turn off your lights. This is a very “under the cover of night” type operation.  


  1. Alright, now that you are in full goblin mode, it’s time, time for the goblin food. Grab your ingredients and find a weird place to sit in your kitchen, preferably sprawled on the floor. Comfortable? Good.


  1. Ok, cracker time. Grab a cracker and hold it in your hand, plates cannot help you where you’re going. Grab a knife for the marmite* and listen to me carefully. 


*As an Australian citizen I would make my mom cry if I, in good conscience, told you to eat marmite. Vegemite all the way baby, long live the shrimp on the barbie. 


  1. Grab a sliver, A SLIVER of marmite. I’m talking half to one quarter of your pinky nail here. Everyone who has this stuff complains it’s gross because they glob it on like its nutella. Don’t be that person. Start small and work up.


  1. Get that mustard bottle, make sure it’s dijon. Shake it, shake that dijon good. Shake it to the point where someone would be like “man, that’s enough. Stop shaking the dijon . . . seriously dude, stop.” OK, great, now squirt the dijon on the cracker. 


  1. Eat the creepy cracker.


  1. Try not to barf.


  1. You’re OK, it’s fine, a person too good for the internet guarantees this is good.


  1. Realize it’s not that bad.


  1. Seriously, it’s not that bad.


  1. Have another (repeat 24 times).


  1. Live with the knowledge that it’s actually kind of good.


So there you go, a goblin treat for all you midterm goblins out there. Now you must live with the burden of this curse, with the monster this has made you become. And remember! It’s not my fault, you’re the one who ate it. Merry spooky season y’all.


BooOOOOoooo Apparition!


— The Starving Artist

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