Advocates of a new Harvard University Dining Services (HUDS) program in Quincy House, whose dining hall will stop putting out trays on Thursdays during the month of February, say it will reduce waste by forcing students to take less food at a time. In the end, the argument goes, undergraduates will learn about the true cost of unfinished food. But getting rid of trays—a move that effectively puts a very small price on eating more than a few plates worth of food—doesn’t come close to addressing the root of the problem. Students don’t consider the costs of their meals because their meals don’t have a cost. If HUDS charged for food on an à-la-carte basis, waste and over-consumption would dramatically decrease.

Under the current system, the amount that people pay for food is unrelated to how much they eat, or even how many meals they attend. The cost of each meal is effectively borne by the entire student body, creating a classic tragedy of the commons. Since diners do not suffer the cost of the food they eat, they inevitably eat more than the optimal amount. What’s more, they have no incentive to take only as much food as they can eat, so they produce more waste than they would if their meal had a price tag.

Charging for food would force dining-hall denizens to economize on their dining, and concurrently to keep their waste to a minimum. What is today an all-you-can-carry buffet would suddenly give hungry undergraduates pause, reducing the astronomical amount that gets thrown away. They would also consider the relative costs of each item of food. If salads are much cheaper to produce than sandwiches, student decisions should take this into account. Whether HUDS priced food at the cost of producing it or with a margin for profit, they would almost certainly save money, which would help them deal with rising food prices and ease their putative budget woes.

The quality of the food, too, would almost certainly increase. Certain meals, such as pizza and tuna, are rarely served in dining halls because they are too expensive—and, ironically, too popular. HUDS faces a perverse incentive not to provide food that too many people will eat, since every additional meal they serve is a loss. These incentives would be reversed if dining halls charged for food, since they would, like any normal business, seek to maximize, rather than minimize, sales. Furthermore, it would force dining halls to compete directly with area restaurants that have to charge for meals, ensuring higher-quality food and service in the dining halls and benefiting local business.

Opponents might argue that such a plan, which would require students to wait in line for cashiers, is impractical. But Dartmouth, which has just such a system, has managed to implement it efficiently and without long lines. The present BoardPlus system could be easily extended into dining halls to make payment easy. Others might protest that the program would be biased against students with less money, but the College could simply include a meal allowance in its financial aid packages.

Perhaps the most potent possible objection to such a program is that it might disrupt the bustling nexus of House community. While the number of people eating in the dining halls would probably decrease if our unfair meal plan were eliminated, the increased quality of food and service should draw back many students tempted by Pinocchio’s, perhaps, or any of its Harvard Square competitors. The high turnout in dining halls today is no testament to House spirit; instead it reflects a system that gives students no real choice. Community is about voluntary, not forced, association—the dining halls should be something students can be proud of, not something they are stuck with.

If green-minded students really want to reduce waste and its consequences—financial and environmental—they have to make diners somehow responsible for their consumption. Tricks like eliminating trays and hanging up sanctimonious signs will only go so far. Instituting an à-la-carte system would put the necessary pressure on students where it counts—their wallets.



Daniel P. Robinson ’10, a Crimson editorial editor, is a social studies concentrator in Kirkland House.