When Lunchroom Ladies Really Cooked

A while back, one of my co-workers was selling “stuff” (wrapping paper, candles, cookie dough and I can’t recall what else) for her child’s school; this got me thinking how different fund raising was back when I was in elementary school. Back them we had two fundraisers, a chicken dinner and a spaghetti dinner, but, I sighed to myself, that was when lunchroom ladies really cooked. That simple thought opened a floodgate of fond memories based in the cafeteria at Padgett Elementary School in the early seventies.

Talk about a sensory memory, I immediately began to recall that tantalizing scent wafting down the hallways, there was nothing else like it, if this smell was in the air that meant just one thing - we were having those big, fluffy, buttery yeast rolls that. In terms of lunchroom currency, those yeast rolls were gold. The other kids would trade you anything on their tray to get an extra roll. My roll, however, was never up for barter. Are you kidding, after smelling it for two hours before lunch, the last thing I was going to do was let it get away from me! It was every man (or should I say kid) for themselves on yeast roll day.

The lunchroom magic didn’t end there. Joy, oh, joy, there was the occasional pizza day. My family lived too far out of town to have pizza delivered; pizza at any time was treat. Besides, way back then in Polk County, Florida who had ever seen a rectangular piece of pizza? That was an absolute novelty of the school lunchroom.

Even when specially assigned schools buses took kids out into the world for adventures in learning, the school cafeteria followed us. I have it on good authority these days when kids go on field trips the bus takes them to the mall so they can descend upon Chick-Fil-A en masse. That wasn’t an option for my school for two reasons, no mall and no Chick-Fil-A. With all due respect to Chick-Fil-A we had something better. Our lunchroom ladies made bag lunches for field trips. Each student was presented with a handmade lunch, tucked into a brown bag and if we were really lucky, maybe, just maybe there would be a peanut butter ball inside. Oh sweet mystery of life, peanut butter balls, was there anything better in the world at that moment? I think not.

There were even every day wonders behind the scenes in the cafeteria. From the serving line, if you looked just beyond the counter on certain days there were fields of chocolate. From my mini me perspective, those full sheet pans of yellow cake slathered with chocolate frosting seemed to go on for miles. It was like a football field of cake cued up to feed those hungry young mouths.

I had to laugh recently when reading news stories about chocolate milk being banned in schools. There was no banning it back then, it was even an option. Call me a rebel, or maybe you should call my mom the rebel, because she put Nestle Quik in a plastic baggie or empty prescription bottle so I could add it to my lily white milk myself.

Personal favorite food treats and indulgences aside, most of all I remember Mrs. Bailey, my favorite lunchroom lady. She was tall, with fair skin and dark brown hair (all tucked carefully into a hairnet). She was always smiling. It has puzzled me for years why, out of all the people and all the events that transpire during the course of one’s elementary school career, is the memory of this one sweet lunchroom lady is so strong. I can still see her in my mind’s eye with absolute clarity. Feeding a school full of hungry children day in and day out was no easy feat, but her countenance was ever serene, ever welcoming.

Hindsight being both omnipotent and crystal clear, I have to say it was that glimpse of feeding people on a larger scale, the communal table and seeing someone working at that and clearly loving it so much that has made Mrs. Bailey stay with me all these years. In some way, those seeds of the cook I would become and the hostess I would hope to be were planted lo those many years ago at Padgett Elementary School. It’s not all reading, writing and ‘rithmetic, folks. There’s so much more to be learned.

Mrs. Bailey, if you’re still out there (and I sincerely hope that you are), thanks for the memories. And the peanut butter balls.