In our house, rainy days = lunch orders. Don't be alarmed - we're not feeding the kids bulk party pies on the weekly. It rains so infrequently here that when the heavens open, it's an event. If we lived in Tasmania or Portland, the policy may have to change, but in our dry corner of North West NSW, in our beautiful but arid homeland Down Under, we throw caution to the wind (rain?!) and order the damn lunch order when it's wet.
For those that live in a place more prone to precipitation that us, this isn't a case of needing a lunch order to cheer us up when it's raining. Given I am part Wednesday Addams, a pale shade dwelling pluviophile whose soul starts to sing at the first sign of a storm cloud, it's more a case of leaning into the hygge and going with the flow (ing rain).
So when we looked out the window this morning and saw fog and drizzle, (obviously a delightful sight for me) I knew it would be the second lunch order for the week and I was filled with what can only be described as glee.
The logistics are slightly different from when I was a kid; there were a few more steps back then. We had to write our order on the printed paper bags, and find the exact money or write 'change required' (plus your working out) to remind the lunch ladies and volunteer mums you were owed 50 cents.
If you'd run out of canteen issue bags, a brown paper bag would also get you by. Then you'd take it to school, careful to put in the front pocket of your bag to avoid getting lost, and pop it through the slot on the canteen door on your way to class. You had to have your shit together so that you weren't left lunchless.
Now I just put the order into the app by 10am, it charges my credit card and ning nang nong, Helga's your Aunty.
These days, the process may be slightly different and require no input from the kid themselves, but the food is almost the same.
In the 90's, the highly processed, crumbed chicken I used to order was called chicken pieces. In mid 2024 they've undergone a slight PR rebrand and are now "chicken tenders" but really, potato - potahto.
Incredibly though, the feeling it evokes is obviously still as magical given M's enthusiasm for a canteen day. And that magic rubs off on me too.
When I'm placing the order, I'm teleported back to being a little girl in year one, sitting in the long wooden corridor outside Mrs Chap's classroom, with all the other little faces peering out, watching the rain drip down the creaky old windows; waiting in anticipation for the lunch monitors to return.
Inevitably they'd burst through the door, wet and soggy, but proudly there, jointly carrying the basket filled with steamy, oil stained paper bags.
Regardless of what was in those packages, it didn't really matter if it was a buttercup pie with 2 sauces, a salad cup (made in an old margarine container) or a cheese roll, it just felt so special. Warmth spread through your tummy and your soul as you took a bite of whatever you'd chosen for the day.
Interestingly enough, over the 7 years of primary school, my orders rarely deviated and I know most my friends were the same. A packet of chicken lites and a cheese roll everydayyyyyyy.
In reality, what was in my usual lunchbox was probably technically much better both in taste and nutrition, but opening up the old pink decor box, even if it had a frozen poppa inside didn't evoke the same joy that came when you were opening up a lunch order.
I remember it being somewhat close to a Biblical experience- like the heavens were singing and the light was illuminating you as the canteen's chosen ones for the day. You could sit there smugly with your highly processed edible food product; the smells wafting over to annoy those who were tucking into a cheese and gherkin sandwich with an undoubtedly sad face.
The canteen didn't lose it's appeal in high school. At age 13 or 14, I remember awkwardly standing in line to wait for mint patties and sausage rolls whilst avoiding kids swinging off the barriers, or making way for year 11's pushing in to take their place in the pecking order, always at the front.
Heading to the canteen in year eight became particularly thrilling when the rogue year ten group decided to take rising canteen costs into their own hands with a custom and very unique pricing schedule.
Roll the dice on the day. Sometimes a frosty fruit would cost 70 cents and sometimes it would be 5 for $1 with $7 change from a fiver.
This ended in a spectacular fashion with principal intervention, the school threatening to call the police and every single year ten having to repay the canteen fund. Students were banished from lunch duty, never to grace the canteen's counter again.
It didn't matter at that stage as 75% of students had already had their fair share of mars bars on the school's dime. There was also the small issue of the coke machine being ripped off, but I now believe that student's were unfairly being blamed for a terrible teacher's (highly illegal) side hustle.
I think about the Great Canteen Swindle of 99 fondly and often.
At boarding school, there was no such thing as a lunch order, as lunch was provided every day and there's no fun in that. When I first arrived, I thought the salad bar was the best thing since sliced bread. In reality- it really only had sliced bread and a few mediocre cold cuts which grew boring pretty quickly. I used to buy pork buns and keep them in the boarding house freezer for occasions when I just simply couldn't stomach another sucky salami and plastic cheese sando.
However, all was not lost. The anticipation for Friday morning tea more than made up for lunch during the rest of the week. Leftover day was the time when the kitchen staff became the most creative in repurposing slops into barely edible 'treats'. The options were endless and always highly suspect but heading to the dining hall to see what was available at 11:00am on a Friday was a highlight.
I vividly remember calculating which of our friends had the quickest route from their pre recess class so they could save a spot in line. We had game in the boarding house hunger games.
Garlic bread and a version of chocolate mousse meant you were triumphant at getting there quickly and hadn't been left with rank old mac and cheese or strawberry cheesecake, both sure to induce a horrific stomach ache. (Two different types of cheese related options was not a coincidence. Mal either got a special on bulk shredded cheese or we'd had lasagne earlier in the week).
Friday Morning tea was the same feeling of anticipation and delight that I'd felt throughout the years. I didn't even know if it was going to be good, but I was sure it was going to be 'something' and deep down, the delight in the ritual was responsible for that feeling, not the 3 day old 'garlic bread' made from salvaged hamburger buns slathered in margarine.
As I sit here now, looking out at the rain streaming down, I remember that feeling- viscerally even. It didn't matter if I was 6 or 16, what other drama was playing out at school or how homesick I was, a lunch order simply made me feel like life was on my side that day. And I'm sure that feeling is not isolated to me; surely it's a universal human emotion, or at least something loads of middle class Aussie kids feel, isn't it?
I hope there's lots of little (and bigger) bebes impatiently waiting, on this random rainy Thursday, for delight to arrive in the form of brown paper bag.
As an adult, I don't get that feeling much anymore. We don't have uber eats, and I'm sure it's not the same anyway. Am I forever going to be chasing the feeling of wholesome-ness and wholeness that came from crumbed chicken warmed in a pie warmer? Am I going to have to live vicariously through the kids - and be way too invested when they order a hot dog instead of their usual? Can you blame me for being nostalgic and chasing the canteen dream?
I've just checked the weather, and alas, there's no rain in store for tomorrow. But guess what? It's Friday, and in our house, Friday = lunch orders.
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