And a tip of the hat to Jamie Oliver....
Monday morning the lunch bell rang. Finally.
David steered between the tables and sat down at his usual table in the middle of the room. Jared and Michael were already there. Talking earnestly, seriously, solemnly about (David rubbed his aching forehead)
Jared held out a sheet of paper. “I’m telling you. It says thirty press oms.”
“What the heck is a press om?” demanded Michael.
“Dude,” said David loudly. “Chili dogs.” He took a huge bite. “They're pretty good.”
“Big deal. They serve chili dogs every day.” Jared rattled the sheet David’s face until he wiped his hands on his shirt and took it. “Coach Dubrovnev’s conditioning schedule. For basketball.”
Oh joy. David dropped it on the table and returned to his lunch.
“Today’s Monday,” droned Jared. “We gotta do thirty of them.”
“So, what the heck is a press om,” repeated Michael blah blah de blah. The two of them went on and on while David wolfed down the last couple of bites. He leaned back in his chair and poked idly at the dense purple rectangle on his tray. “I think it’s jello.”
“Yup,” said Jared. “See the chunks? Diced peaches. My dad went to school here. He told me about stuff like this. And that marshmallow fruit salad thing. With coconut. Brr.”
“Ambrosia,” murmured David. “My mom went here, too.”
“Dad said the lunch ladies have a big refrigerator in the basement full of leftovers. Stuff from the eighties.”
“Dude,” exclaimed Michael. “Don’t eat that!”