Lunch at Cafe Brioche in Palo Alto with Nancy Jo was like all experiences with Nancy Jo: warm and interesting and good for the spirit. Maybe that’s why the portobello mushroom sandwich I ate tasted so fabulous. The marinade for the mushroom was complex and delicious, it was perfectly cooked. Which was better? Seeing Nancy Jo’s smile, hearing her voice, the touch of her hand on my arm as we talked—or the perfect sandwich? I think one depended on the other.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “lunch.”
I am afraid that only a lunch of cold meats with bread and cheese was laid. I had thought our husbands would dine at their club.
Sister, you know that the Prince of Wales joining Lady Blenheim’s luncheon has made it all the go.
Yes, what must the Queen think?
lunch – In my distant past, sizzling grilled cheese on white bread in mom’s kitchen with piping warm tomato soup accompanied by cold milk and love flowing everywhere. Now, hot homemade pizza on wheat crust in this mom’s kitchen with three boys towering over me, accompanied again by cold milk and love.
Three open lunchboxes: Tinkerbell, Batman, and grown-up plain black for the teenager. Half-awake I sort banana banana banana, juice juice water, peanut butter peanut butter ham, custard custard yoghurt. I pour coffee and yawn, longing for the day when I’ll miss the days of Tinkerbell, Batman and plain black lunchboxes.
Theresa is eating out of her brown paper bag again. It must be an egg-salad sandwich. Egg-salad gets stuck in her braces. She takes a bite from within the bag and then pushes the bag up higher and closer to her face. Hiding behind the lunch bag doesn’t seem to embarrass her. It makes me laugh to see the bag in front of her face. She is the first to call attention to someone else’s embarrassing moments, how difficult it must be to be her. I don’t eat lunch. I haven’t eaten breakfast. I just don’t really think about eating. The nurse has called my mother. I”m supposed to eat breakfast before I catch the bus, but I leave before they get out of bed, no one really knows. I tried eating grapefruit for a few days….but that was when Mom got up to cut it for me. It seems like too much trouble. I’m just not hungry until 3:00pm. The nurse said my stomach is shrinking. If I were hungry, I’d eat. Our lunch table is long. I didn’t always sit here. I used to sit with my homeroom friends and I’m not really sure why or how I moved to sit here. Sheryl probably asked me to sit with her. What a strange group we are. Sheryl wants me to sneak out for a cigarette with her. Gladly. What a relief it is to get out of the crowd and walk away from the school. We cross the long driveway where the buses line up to the area where we have our plot studies. Sheryl takes out two Salems and we light up. The menthol feels so cool on my lips and the smoke burns my lungs….but it feels so good.
After a long absence Billy has rediscovered the Marmite sandwich- his sustenance throughout childhood. He remembered making them. A slice of good white bread, a thin layer of Marmite, white bread on top. It was poetry, the way his body had welcomed the first bite, how the taste was so strong that you didn’t have to eat more than you had, and a jar would last for ages. Things had changed for Billy now though. He has butter in his sandwich, and also an apple.
I could hardly get out of bed this morning, so I did not make my lunch. What I will have for lunch remains to be decided. On a day like today, it feels daunting and uncomfortable to have uncertain lunch plans.