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  n the days when I cooked for a living, people often asked, “Where did you go to cooking school?” They were always disappointed to hear that instead of attending the Culinary Institute of America side-by-side with Anthony Bourdain and Mario Batali, I instead have a master’s degree in medieval literature, although probably not quite as disappointed as the folks who financed that education. I always say I can answer any of the brown questions on Trivial Pursuit with about 95% accuracy, so the expensive education was not a complete waste. Cooking was something I always did “on the side,” until I couldn’t stand it any longer and decided to immerse myself in food 24 hours a day, 7 days a week as a full-time (and then some) cook and restaurant owner, and then as a produce buyer and co-owner of this fledging enterprise.
Before all that, though, I taught 8th grade English for three years, perhaps the most challenging and rewarding years of my adult life. Eighth graders are fascinating creatures—each day was a journey through uncharted territory, and connecting with fresh, creative, curious minds was a daily joy. Why did I leave teaching, then? In addition to the daily joys, there were also the long hours, the endless stack of essays, the sometimes overwhelming sense of futility, the repetitiveness, the being confined to a closed classroom all day, the beaurocracy . . . and the food sucked.
I brought my own lunch each day, but I was horrified to discover what the children were eating in the cafeteria. Packaged, processed, sugary, and worse. I always enjoyed the rousing period just after lunch when my hormone-crazed classroom had consumed copious amount of Jolt Cola (“All the Sugar & Twice the Caffeine!”) and Mountain Dew. Yes, not only was it approved for consumption, it was offered in machines in the hallway! Eighth Graders! Double Caffeine!
Somehow, five or six years later, when my own children begged to order food from the cafeteria, I forgot about the microwaved cheeseburgers assembled in some far-away factory, the orange “drink,” the high fructose corn syrup, and I agreed. When I asked that afternoon how they had liked it, Tess said, “The peaches were weird. Not like your peaches.”
“What do you mean?” I asked
She shrugged, “They were ok, I guess, but they were kind of slippery and wet.”
Oh, right—I wish I could remember my first encounter with “heavy syrup.” That was the end of school lunches for my children. I discovered that what they loved about eating in the cafeteria was the autonomy, the sense of control over their own food choices, something they don’t get too much of at home. I am ever the fan of the teachable moment, so together we sat down and made a menu of choices—healthy, but fun—and each week, they placed their “orders” with me. No more wet peaches.
I’m happy to have at least partially solved the lunch problem in my own home, but school lunches continue to be a concern for me, and should be for all of us, whether we have children in school or not. Many, if not most, of the children I taught all those years ago, ate their only real, hot meals of the day at school. Breakfast in the cafeteria was crowded, and tardiness was hardly ever an issue. The children came to school on time because they were hungry. Lunch did not wind up in the trash. Cafeteria trays were empty at the end of lunch. No school meant no breakfast and no lunch. It’s one thing to imagine junky food in the abstract, or as something that kids eat as part of an otherwise balanced, real food diet. But think of the real implications. We tell our nation’s children, “You are what you eat!” and then we feed them junk. What kind of message are we sending? What kind of nation are we creating? There’s a lot about public education that needs fixing, but let’s not forget what’s broken in the cafeteria too. Our children are not junk, and they all deserve better. Take action; send a message.
On Labor Day, people in communities all over the country are gathering for public potlucks to take part in Slow Food USA’s Time for Lunch Campaign. This day of action sends a clear message to Congress: It’s time to provide our children with REAL FOOD in school. Slow Food Austin has partnered with Farmhouse Delivery to host a local potluck eat-in at Rain Lily Farm. Come on out and enjoy a meal with community members who want to get REAL FOOD in our schools and learn how you can make a difference. Please bring a dish to share, along with your own plates, utensils, beverages and cups. Your lunch lady will thank you! |
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