Given how many school lunches I consumed it’s funny that all I remember were the fish fingers. For pudding there was semolina, or a jam and coconut sponge cake. You’d think that something you do everyday for fifteen years would yield more memories than a fish stick and tepid custard. I suppose our brains only have room for so many memories, and when it’s something as constant as lunch, we likely distill the experience down to a handful of images, feelings and flavours. Once I was in high school, lunch was either a Twix and five cigarettes or milky tea and buttered toast from the local greasy spoon. I just signed my kids up to the hot lunch program at school in the hopes that their memories are more refined than mine. Although something tells me that no matter how good the food is, all they’ll remember are the sloppy mortadella sandwiches and browning apples they brought from home.
