Yellow Crackers
(biscotti yellows of the peanut butter)
By Anthony Buccino
| That distinctive
smell of pizza and french fries on Friday mornings always signaled the
school week was nearly over.
A few minutes in the lunch line, and one or two classes, and it's onto the weekend. Not only the children felt this way, but some adults went to four years and more of college, got certified and are allowed to cram an adult meal into their gullets in 20 minutes or less. Now, that's dedication. As one who brown-bagged it 99 percent of the time, I often pitied the bus kids who had to buy the hot lunch in the school cafeteria. Theirs was an endless stream of mystery meat in brown gravy with vegetables no one could identify. Plus Jell-o, of course. Surely, at that price, it was a bargain, but what it was was anybody's guess. Luckily for me, Mom packed the sandwich – wrapped in Cut-Rite waxed paper – an orange – scored, of course or an apple or a pear, and a pack of Funny Bones or a Ring Ding. Sandwiches were predictable, made from the best cold cuts in the world, ham, turkey or bologna and cheese, usually on white bread. Sometimes there would be a meatball sandwich on Italian bread. Or on special occasions, Mom set aside a veal cutlet or two from dinner and I had that for lunch, much to the drooling envy of my table mates. However, to wash it all down, I was a the mercy of the lady who sold the milk at the milk island. If I got there early enough, there'd be at least one half-pint of chocolate milk. In junior high, they sold tumblers of fresh orange juice for almost nothing, but you had to go through the main cafeteria line with everybody else to buy it. After lunch and before the bell rang, a classmate got a tray of the tumbler-sized glasses of cold, wet orange juice and drank them down one after another as if they were iced beers on a hot summer afternoon. They all went down so easily. School cafeterias always had the greatest food accessories. My favorite cafeteria snacks were the yellow crackers with the peanut butter filling. In the old days, a school cafeteria was the only place you could buy those six-pack crackers. For variety, they had orange crackers with yellow filling. These treats were held together with preservatives and red dye number three. Only in the school cafeteria could we find the three-pack of chocolate chip or oatmeal cookies. These cookies, although packaged, were soft and chewy – before it became a marketing ploy – and had a fresh-baked taste as in the days when Mom baked cookies and Dad went to work. If you were quick enough and got into the cafeteria line early, you could grab a piece of blueberry pie. Sometimes after I finished what Mom packed, I'd check to see if they put out the pie for the next lunch class. There was something addictive about my school cafeteria blueberry pie. In a pinch, it could pass for a whole meal, but it served as dessert, too. Kids who ate the hot meals raved about the broiled potatoes. These crispy brown wonders were charred with a secret spice combination of olive oil and oregano that was brushed on by women with their hair in buns. On Fridays, the covert operation was to distract a table mate while an accomplice swiped a french fry or two. This was always good for a knowing laugh. Cafeterias were built to provide an outlet for the kids' mid-day hyper energy. Usually the walls were tiled to give the proper echo to the din. Kids often left he cafeteria and went straight to the nurse's office for Q-tips. Conversations were raucous shouts. Directions from teachers who could not weasel out of cafeteria duty were lost in the lion's roar. It was useless to tell the cafeteria lady, "No veggies," because she could not hear you and gave them to you anyway. A student shut in at an elementary lunch reported that they were not allowed to talk at lunch. Perhaps the armed matron watching over the youngsters was born with a perpetual headache and children bothered her. But a kid who talked in that lunch ended the day serving time in elementary school detention hell. Nowadays, the cafeteria ladies, God bless 'em, are said to listen to rock 'n' roll music on WKTU. If they ever had a radio in the old days, it would have been tuned to the all-polka AM station. Radios in those days could not pick up the signal in the old stone buildings. When we were in school, we never had a chance to reminisce about he TV shows we watched when we were little. If anything, we talked about last night's "Fugitive" or the "Mod Squad." "Sesame Street" didn't start until I was in high school. The kids today stumble into a friendly game of "remember when" every now and then. You can hear the rumble, "Thunder! Thunder! Thunder Cats!" Then they break away into their sentimental memories of Rainbow Brite. And so it is when I see an ice cream sandwich. It has been more than 25 years since I queued up with my hearty youthful appetite for those yellow peanut butter cookies and an ice cream sandwich to wash them down. For a brief moment or two, I long to be in junior high school again. Maybe I should have been a teacher. Or perhaps a quick visit to a real school cafeteria with living, breathing brats in their funky oversized clothes indecipherable jive will quash this longing. <The text at left was translated into Italian and back into English using the Google.com translator.> |
That the odore symbol of
peak and potatoes fried on the mornings of it of friday has marked always
the week of the school nearly ended. Some minuteren in the lunch align and code one or two category and have place on the fine week. Not only the children have thought this sense, but some adults have gone to four years and more of the university, they obtain certifys to you and they grant cram a meal of the adult in their esophagi in 20 minuteren or less. Hour, that one is dedication. As one who brown-the has insaccata 99 for hundreds of the time, pitied often the kidskin of the bus that has had to buy the warm lunch in the self-service of the school. They were a flow infinitely of the meat of mystery in gravy brown with the verdure that nobody could identify. Jell-o more, naturally. Sure, to that price, it was a transaction, but that what was it was someone conjecture. Fortunately for me, the mom has packed the sandwich? moved in Cuts - Rite the incerata paper? a orange? noticed, naturally or one apple or one pear and a package of amusing boneses or a Ding ring. The sandwiches were expectable, made from the cold better ransom within the world, the prosciutto, the turkey or Bologna and the cheese, usually on bread white man. To times there would be a sandwich of the polpetta on Italian bread. Or in the special occasions, the mom it has put a cotoletta from part of the year-old calf or two from the lunch and I have had that one for lunch, a lot to envy drooling of my table are corresponded. However, to wash it that all are drained, I was the misericordia of the mrs. who has sold the latte ones to the island of the latte ones. If you obtained here enough soon, the there' d it is at least of one half-pinta of the latte ones to the chocolate. In the high smaller, they have sold chiavette of the fresh juice of orange in order nearly the nothing, but you have had to pass through the main line of the self-service with everyone other to buy it. After that the lunch and before that the flange squillasse, classmate obtain a tray of the chiavetta-graded glasses of cold, the bathed juice of orange and they down have them drunk one after an other like if were beers ghiacciate on a warm afternoon of summer. All have gone therefore easy down. The self-service of the school have always had the larger accessories of the food. Mine spuntini favorite of the self-service was the cracker yellow with the material from clogging of the peanut butter. In the old days, a self-service of the school was the only place that you could buy those six-packed the cracker. For variety, they have eats the cracker to you orange with material from yellow clogging. These ossequi have been held with with the preservatives you and the red dye number three. Only in the self-service of the school we could we find three-we pack of biscotti of the integrated circuit or the oatmeal of the chocolate. These biscotti, even if impaccati, were soft and gommosi? before it it has become a ploy of sale? and it has had a coolness-cooked taste as in the days in which the mom it has cooked biscotti and the dad it has gone to work. If you were enough quickly and entered soon in the line of the self-service, you could seize a part of the cake of the mirtillo. To times after that rifinissi that mom has packed, I would control in order to see if they put outside the cake for the code following category of the lunch. There was qualche.cosa of addictive approximately my cake of the mirtillo of the self-service of the school. In a pizzico, it could pass for an entire meal, but it has served from dessert, also. The kidskin that have eaten the warm meal raved approximately potatoes cooked to the grill. These wonders croccanti browns have been carbonate to you with a secret concoction of La Spezia of the oil of olive and the origano that has been brushed over from the women with their hats in sandwiches. To the friday, the secret operation had distract a companion of the table while a accomplice swiped one fried potato or two. That was always good for one risata knowledge. The self-service are constructed in order to supply one taken for energy of noon of kidskin the iper. The walls have been covered of tegoli usually for giving the adapted echo to the din. The kidskin often have left it self-service and have gone straight to the office of the nurse for Q- upset. The conversations were grida raucous. The senses from teaching that they could not weasel the duty of the self-service have been lost in the roar of the lion. It was useless to say the mrs. of the self-service, "no veggies," because it could not feel and it does not have give them to you you however. A student has closed within to an elementary lunch has marked that has not been allowed to communicate to lunch. Perhaps the matron fortified that he watches over the young manen it has been sopportato with a perpetual headache and the children have importunata it. But a kidskin that has communicated in how much the lunch has concluded the time of the serving of day in the hell of detainment of the elementary school. To the day today, the getlteman of the self-service, God benedicono ' the em, says itself to listen to music of the seam of the cliff ' n ' on WKTU. If radios in the old days never had one, would have been syntonized to the all-polka station of. The radios have in those days not been able to take mark them in the old stone constructions. When we were to school, we have not never had a probability reminisce approximately exposures that of the TV we have watched when we were small. If never, we have spoken "about the fuggitivo" of the past night or "the squad of the MOD." "the way of the sesame" has not set offed until that not pits in High School. The kidskin today inciampano in a friendly game of "are remembered of when" every so often. You can feel the rumble, "thunder! Thunder! Cats Di Tuono!" Then they are broken off via in their memories sentimental of the Brite rainbow. And therefore it is when I see a sandwich of the ice cream. It has been more than 25 years from when I have stood in line in on with my warm appetite youthful affinchè those biscotti yellows of the peanut butter and a sandwich of the ice cream you washed them down. For a short moment or two, long to be in ' junior high school' still.
Perhaps I would have to be teaching. |
Copyright © 1998-2008 by Anthony Buccino, All Rights Reserved
This essay is adapted from
RAMBLING ROUND Inside and Outside at the Same Time
Anthony's World
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