Have I told you the story of how my mother, in a parent-teacher conference, heard that I was not eating my cafeteria lunch at school, and how she took it upon herself to cater to my picky-eater nonsense by sending me to school with a thermos full of hot ravioli or macaroni and cheese every day for at least four years (I honestly cannot remember), which affirmed my disgust reflex for countless foods—cold sandwiches, salads, cole slaw, vinegar, pickles, unmelted cheese, and all condiments among them—for the next thirty years of my life? I am endlessly grateful to her for those lunches, but Kina is going to eat the cafeteria food, I’m sorry.

She can have the yogurt raisins, though. Fair trade.

dad