I Ate Free Lunch Every Day of My School Life

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Abstract

we loved it. Chili came with bread and peanut butter for reasons no one knows.</p><p id="fb29">No one complained because there was nothing else. It was hot and plentiful. Most of our parents had eaten this same food in this same cafeteria on those same trays. It was part of our culture.</p><p id="7656">But even in school lunch culture, there can be occasional transcendent moments. The third Friday of every month was chocolate milk day, so that was nice. And everyone’s favorite lunch, by far, was chicken patty day. It was breaded and crispy and salty. It came with two slices of white bread, so thin you could see through them, and a slather of mayonnaise from a jar that weighed as much as we did.</p><p id="ab36">And, once or twice a year, these two things occurred on the same day.</p><figure id="f8f5"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/0*SSI1U-ma5ULseg83"><figcaption>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@cdc?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">CDC</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">Unsplash</a></figcaption></figure><p id="7b94">I remember being seven or nine or twelve and being so excited for lunch to happen that I had a hard time concentrating. At the bell, half the class began running toward the cafeteria no matter how the teacher yelled at them. The fastest could be through the line before I even got there. But there was

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always enough for all.</p><p id="05c7">Sitting down with this glorious combo was a heavenly respite from the world. Chocolate milk, a chicken patty sandwich, and perhaps a pile of lettuce and tomatoes so pale that they were nearly the same color, drenched in violent orange dressing (sometimes referred to as a “salad”).</p><p id="1759">Even if you savored it, you were done in minutes. A second later we shot out the door into the freezing Wisconsin cold for a carb-fueled recess. Then back to the classroom for a lethargic afternoon. Who could compete with chocolate milk and chicken patty day? There was nothing to look forward to anymore.</p><p id="082e">Except for every month when the school sent home the lunch schedule, where you could hunt in anticipation for another beautiful day where the stars would align just right.</p><div id="3467" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/about-me-jasmine-smith-a9d2a0be8d38"> <div> <div> <h2>About Me — Jasmine Smith</h2> <div><h3>From the middle to east to west and back again</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*LaA43FNL4WAO3_YBaPlgMg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

So did everyone else I knew.

They were neither delicious nor nutritious but they were… there. Enough kids in my school fell below the poverty line that they just gave it for free to everyone. I never in my life saw a lunchbox or brown bag lunch show up at the table.

We lined up and each took a flesh-colored fiberglass tray. Lunch ladies in plastic gloves dolloped out hot cooked green beans floating in murky water, instant mashed potatoes, and a soft abomination questionably called “Salsbury steak”. The sheet of food they referred to as “pizza” appeared to be a giant soggy saltine topped with bland tomato sauce and the tiniest sprinkle of government-grade processed cheese.

I was so traumatized by this experience that for most of my adult life I thought I didn't like pizza. It took my New Jersey husband years to wear me down into appreciating truly excellent pizza. I still won’t eat the frozen stuff.

The spaghetti was oily, but we loved it. Chili came with bread and peanut butter for reasons no one knows.

No one complained because there was nothing else. It was hot and plentiful. Most of our parents had eaten this same food in this same cafeteria on those same trays. It was part of our culture.

But even in school lunch culture, there can be occasional transcendent moments. The third Friday of every month was chocolate milk day, so that was nice. And everyone’s favorite lunch, by far, was chicken patty day. It was breaded and crispy and salty. It came with two slices of white bread, so thin you could see through them, and a slather of mayonnaise from a jar that weighed as much as we did.

And, once or twice a year, these two things occurred on the same day.

I remember being seven or nine or twelve and being so excited for lunch to happen that I had a hard time concentrating. At the bell, half the class began running toward the cafeteria no matter how the teacher yelled at them. The fastest could be through the line before I even got there. But there was always enough for all.

Sitting down with this glorious combo was a heavenly respite from the world. Chocolate milk, a chicken patty sandwich, and perhaps a pile of lettuce and tomatoes so pale that they were nearly the same color, drenched in violent orange dressing (sometimes referred to as a “salad”).

Even if you savored it, you were done in minutes. A second later we shot out the door into the freezing Wisconsin cold for a carb-fueled recess. Then back to the classroom for a lethargic afternoon. Who could compete with chocolate milk and chicken patty day? There was nothing to look forward to anymore.

Except for every month when the school sent home the lunch schedule, where you could hunt in anticipation for another beautiful day where the stars would align just right.