Fine Dining

This morning I read a fabulous post from one of my favorite authors, Tracie (please do yourself a favor and visit Squiggle Line Cafe — she’s wonderful). She wrote about lunchboxes from back in the day and just like that, I was transported.

Until Fourth Grade, I was the proud owner of a tin lunchbox featuring The Bugaloos — yes, that Saturday morning masterpiece brought to us by Sid and Marty Krofft. The lunchbox was embossed on the front in all its psychedelic glory. It had a metal hinge and clasp that could be heard opening from the other end of the cafeteria. There was no such thing as a quiet entrance when you carried The Bugaloos.

Inside sat the matching thermos — either filled with Campbell’s soup in the colder months or lemonade when the sun decided to show off. That lunchbox was more than a container. It was a status symbol. A conversation starter. A piece of personality.

It held a prime seat each day at Central Boulevard Elementary School, where thirty of your closest friends gathered around long tables under fluorescent lighting that did none of us any favors. Before we even took a bite, we would survey the scene. Who had what? Was there a Hostess cupcake in sight? Pretzels? A pudding cup? Occasionally — and I mean occasionally — a coveted trade would take place. Negotiations were swift. Serious. Binding.

And then there were the days when The Bugaloos stayed home at 36 Grant Avenue and I opted for cafeteria cuisine.

Oh, the confidence.

I would waltz right up to the lunch lady in her hairnet as if I had a reservation.

“I’ll have the special.”

Would you like a side salad with dressing, Miss Eastwood?

Why yes. Yes, I would, Mrs. Lunch Lady.

Back then, it felt like a five-star establishment. The round Friday pizza. The mystery-meat Mondays. That iceberg lettuce salad that I can still smell to this day (and not in a good way). But in the moment? It was divine. It was independence. It was grown-up.

Every meal was served on a sturdy melamine tray with tidy compartments — our very own version of a TV dinner. Everything in its place. Orderly. Predictable. Safe.

But nothing — and I mean nothing — compared to what happened when someone dropped their tray.

There was a stainless steel bucket outside the cafeteria doors where you deposited your used tray. Every now and then, someone would misstep. A sneaker would catch. A hand would slip. And down it went.

Crash.

The tray would hit the green tile floor with a dramatic smash, aluminum silverware scattering like confetti. The sound echoed off the walls.

Then came the silence.

Three… maybe four seconds of absolute stillness. A hush so complete you could hear your own heartbeat.

And then—

The eruption.

The entire cafeteria would leap to its feet in thunderous, stadium-worthy applause. The kind reserved for rock stars taking the stage. It was instantaneous and unanimous. A rite of passage. We always felt terrible for the unfortunate soul standing amid the carnage… but the applause? Legendary.

To this day, that memory makes me laugh out loud.

My dining experiences have certainly evolved over the years. I’ve enjoyed meals in beautiful restaurants with linen napkins and candlelight. I’ve tasted cuisine I couldn’t pronounce in cities far from Central Boulevard.

But none of it quite compares to those 42 minutes each school day when food and friendship sat side by side on a plastic tray.

Fine dining, indeed.

Sometimes the best restaurants in the world aren’t the ones with five stars — they’re the ones with fluorescent lights, round pizza, and a standing ovation you never saw coming.

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Author: KikiFikar

Kiki Fikar is a native New Yorker who is passionate about taking the day to day life we all experience and sharing it in her tales from Suburbia. She will often be found at the gym, writing snippets each day for future story lines, listening to her two children create their lives, and building the perfect beachfront home and writing retreat in her mind.

21 thoughts on “Fine Dining”

  2. Exactly the image I was going for. I cannot thank you enough for bringing back that memory for me. It has been in there for a very long time. When were planning my last high school reunion we were all talking about elementary school lunches. This has been floating around in my head for a few years. Thank you so much for allowing me to bring this out! I tell you blogging can be like therapy lol

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  4. Oh, this takes me back. Love this Kiki. Oh I loved the metal lunchboxes. I would kill to have one of them again. I had a coyote and roadrunner lunchbox, a hand me down from my older brother. I still loved it. I so wish I could walk-in to my work lunchroom with that baby today. Now I would be eating . . . in style!

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  6. Love it!! Oh the memories… that little metal bar that held your thermos in place… the little thermos lid that doubled as a cup—of course it was very uncool to do anything other than drink directly from the thermos—looking down into the thermos after it was empty; the glass, that weird mirror-ish look. I think I had one from Scooby Doo and another time, a G.I. Joe one. And yes… Of course, the epic fail: The dropped tray and the deafening applause. 🤣😂

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  7. The thermos was so fragile. I remember hearing it crash once and my mother screaming don’t open it!!

    Aren’t the memories still so vivid? I swear I’ve had quite the day just smiling about it all! 😁 Thank you so much for reading!

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  10. WoW… This took me back. Way back.

    But nothing compared to Friday pizza. Ours was rectangular, like a piece of pizza bread. Oh man, we loved that pizza.

    And who can forget those sugar cookie treats we got once in a while? Nothing beat eating pizza, mashed potatoes, and carrots, then washing it all down with a sugar cookie and a small carton of chocolate milk. In that cardboard container that took a scientist to open without getting soggy cardboard in your mouth.

    But we survived. We made it. We weren’t spoiled. Paying 25 cents for a cookie and 35 cents for chocolate milk was worth it, especially when good grades meant lunch money.

    Simple days. Great memories.

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  12. Ok my friend. Thank you for continuing the journey with me. The chocolate milk in the containers! I can still smell it and that cardboard against your teeth was its own Hell – like nails on a blackboard Hell!!

    My kids went to the same elementary school as I did. Years later when I walked in the smell of milk and pizza was still front and center. Lol 😁

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  16. Haha 😂😂 YES !! That cardboard against your teeth was torture 😄 I can still hear the sound of it.

    Friday pizza just hit different back then. And how special your kids went to the same school and the smell was still the same. My oldest son went to the same grammar school I did as well. Great and Fond memories…
    It’s amazing how scent alone can take you right back.

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  19. Awesome! Those lunch boxes and the thermos were classic. Growing up in Puerto Rico, we didn’t have pizza in the public schools. The menu was pretty much the same: rice, beans, some kind of meat (chicken, corned beef, Spam), canned fruit, powdered milk (chocolate or plain), and juice. All of it served in a beautiful aluminum tray that, when you dropped it, the whole school knew about it. 😂

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