The Anthropology of Lunches

This morning, I decided to leave the house and write at the library which meant that I needed to pack myself a little lunch. I wanted something simple so I made a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then grabbed a little bag of Fritos that we put in our kids' lunches every once in awhile. I turned to grab a bag and when I turned back I laughed because I had basically packed a lunch from my childhood. Each day that I opened my little plastic yellow Peanuts lunch box, I would find one of two versions of lunch.

Option 1: Skippy peanut butter and grape jelly on white bread, a bag of Fritos, a Ho Ho and a thermos of red Kool-Aid.

Option 2: Bologna with yellow mustard on white bread, a bag of Fritos, a Ding Dong and a thermos full of Tang.

I could almost smell the Wonder Bread just thinking about it.

I then grabbed a clementine and threw it in my bag and as I did it hit me--I never had fresh fruit in my lunch growing up. In fact, I could barely remember having fresh fruit at all. We had watermelon in the summer but the rest of the time we ate canned fruit.

I grew up in the 1970s and convenience foods were just starting to make their way into our daily lives but my mother was also a single mother with a limited income and I can't help but wonder if that played a role too. And if it didn't and those convenience foods were more expensive than their alternatives, what did she sacrifice to pack those Ding Dongs? Things were tight enough that one night's side of mashed potatoes would become the next day's dinner--potato pancakes with cheese--so I know things weren't easy.

And then I thought of my kids' lunches. I thought of the fresh spinach and carrots and salad, the wheat bread and the organic roast beef and bacon, the fresh fruit that goes in every lunch and is in ample supply around the house and I thought about how much we can learn about class and socioeconomic status just by looking in someone's lunchbox.

Creating Shared History

We have a picture of our kids eating peaches on the beach in Melides, Portugal. The dunes are behind them and they are both staring out at the ocean, peaches in hand, juice running down their chins. The truth is that I haven’t looked at that picture in over a year. I don’t need to because the memory is so clear that I can almost smell the salt in their hair, feel the warmth of their bodies, and can almost taste those peaches as if I’d eaten one myself. Each day we spent there began the same way – making lunch to take to the beach. My family recently traveled to Orlando for the Family Forward retreat and during a workshop for Barilla’s Share The Table, Daniele Baliani, Barilla’s guest chef, recalled the days his family spent at the beach – a blanket laid out on the sand, simple food to be shared - and as he spoke, those memories from our time in Melides came back to me.

While offering ideas to help families make mealtime more meaningful, Chef Baliani led families in making a simple pasta salad reminiscent of those his family used to share on the beach. Each family received a tray with all the necessary ingredients and my kids began by tasting – a piece of basil, a sun dried tomato, a finger dipped into olive oil, a penne noodle popped into a mouth distractedly – and then began following instructions. I gave the occasional suggestion but watched as they made decisions together – add all the sun dried tomatoes but only a few red peppers – and worked together to make our meal, negotiating who would hold the bowl and who would stir. And as we sat down to eat, I realized how often we talked about the benefits of working together to prepare a meal in the simplest of terms. We emphasized fun, cooperation and responsibility and those are tremendous benefits. But more than that, when we prepare and share a meal together, we are creating our family’s history. The sights and smells and tastes, our hands joined in work – these become a part of who we are.

Every time I snap fresh green beans, I think of my mother, of hot Kansas summers and our hands working through a pile of beans together. My daughter says her favorite meal is stroganoff because it’s the meal she makes with Luisa, and I hope she’ll someday remember standing on a step stool to cut onions, the way the steam from the boiling water felt on her face and the way they carefully placed the pasta in the pot. I know my son already has some of those kind of memories because every Thanksgiving, he says, “Well, I always make the cranberry sauce…”

Each of us have our favorite memories from our trip to Orlando. Miguel loved the roller coasters and his giant Lard Lad donut. Zeca loved searching for penny machines to press pennies with all the Universal characters. Luisa loved every moment she got to spend in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I loved that we were able to be together without the distraction of our everyday responsibilities and I hope to hold on to the revelations I had while making a simple pasta salad with my kids.

These shared experiences bond us together now and will serve us all in the future as well. These are the times we’ll look back on and ask each other, “Remember when…”

This is a sponsored post on behalf of Barilla, however, my opinions are entirely my own and I have not been paid to publish positive sentiments towards Barilla or their products.

Featured Photo Credit: Vikki Reich