Once a week we let Warren buy hot lunch from school. It’s the kind of event that gets him out of bed if he’s dragging his feet in the morning. He loves the opportunity to dine on cafeteria pizza, canned peaches, and whole wheat tortilla burritos.
I don’t always know what’s on the menu on any given day, so I make sure to ask him what he consumed. His response is always positive but it’s fun to hear the different reactions he gives depending on the particular food item.
Before I offered him afternoon snack options today I wanted to know what he’d already eaten, lest I duplicate anything. So I asked him what he had for lunch. He reported that he’d been served chicken, but clearly there was more to tell.
“The chicken was so tasty, Mom. It tasted like FISH! It was the best chicken I’ve ever had!!” he said with more enthusiasm than I felt a school cafeteria-prepared meal deserved.
“Carson doesn’t usually like chicken, but he really liked this one!” he elaborated as his eyes sparkled.
Interesting. When we were living in Chicago we frequented a fast food establishment known affectionately as Harold’s Chicken Shack. A Southside special where the cashier takes your order behind bullet-proof glass and you place your money in a revolving payment door. They served, as you may guess, fried chicken among other “heart-conscious” delicacies.
The smell of their deep-frying oil could hit you like a brick as you walked by in the dead of winter. But we were told one rule of thumb for eating there: dine only on the days that it smelled like chicken. Avoid ordering on the days that smelled like fish.
Appears no one gave these boys the warning.