My to-go box looks like it might have come from Mr. Wang’s in Homewood, Alabama, my second favorite Chinese eatery. First place belongs to the Phoenix Restaurant in Jasper, which is now only a memory.

My family had stopped there for the first time when I was a young teenager, and we were traveling on a Sunday to Birmingham to see my grandmother in the hospital. She had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer and brain cancer, which the doctors said were unrelated. A double blow.

But my grandfather loved a Sunday dinner out to eat, and somehow food makes your troubles lighter. I don’t remember why we chose to eat at the Phoenix that day, instead of Captain D’s or Shoney’s, the beacons of fine Sunday dining for the older crowd, the scents of Old Spice and White Shoulders mingling with fried fish grease and garlic bread.  

“Chicken kidneys,” my grandfather said, as he examined his bowl of soup, gathering a clump of meat and broth in his spoon. He chewed on the contents thoughtfully, again declaring, “They even used the chicken kidneys,” admiring the chef’s supposed resourcefulness. 

My grandfather, a child of the Great Depression and the eldest of a brood of thirteen, had consumed various animal organs and enjoyed them as necessities and delicacies, though it is still a mystery as to whether any of his crew had ever eaten chicken kidneys. Maybe he was just checking a new one off his “things I’ve eaten” bucket list. Or maybe it brought back one of his own dining memories. I have no doubt that my grandfather knew exactly what a chicken kidney looked like, having farmed for the entirety of his life, including knowing the exact steps to take a live chicken from the yard to the dinner table in under two hours’ time.

My dad clapped his hands, erupting in laughter, saying, “That’s not chicken kidneys, Punch,” using my grandfather’s nickname. I remember laughing along, the moment made even lighter, as I ate my first ever egg roll. That day was the start of an appreciation for Asian foods and trying new things; the kid who always wanted the cheeseburger at Captain D’s instead of the shrimp or the fish would forever be willing to expand her horizons.

On Thursday, I enjoyed Chinese food again in an unlikely place. I had orange chicken and spicy sesame chicken, minus the sesame seeds. I had fried rice, made more healthy, for it was not truly fried. Nor is that brown color from soy sauce. It’s brown rice, the way rice is supposed to be before processing strips it of the good things that God intended us to eat.

Eww, you might say, but it has to fit the nutrition guidelines, for this was a school cafeteria lunch. 

My egg roll was baked, not fried, and the vegetables inside were perfectly textured: crisp water chestnuts, firm carrot slices, and tender ribbons of cabbage, the flavors of ginger root and garlic melding in perfection.

I don’t have to supervise a group of students in the cafeteria anymore. My job doesn’t even require that I go to the cafeteria. Most days, I stay in my office and enjoy a lunch that I brought from home, if I even eat lunch at all. But I keep a check on the school menu, and when something looks good, I’ve gotta give it a whirl.

Each day this week highlighted a different cuisine. And why? Well, honestly I thought it was because it was homecoming week at this school, located so near to my office. I figured the cafeteria staff was pulling out all the stops to add to the school spirit.

As I neared the cafeteria in anticipation, smelling the aroma of soy and ginger, I asked the students if lunch was good today.

“Yes!” said a senior girl, “it’s the best!” The others nodded their heads in agreement.

The staff appeared to be preparing to start the clean-up process. Only one egg roll remained in the bin, and for a moment I felt just a little guilty, the same way you feel when offered a stick of gum but it’s the last piece in the pack. Is it appropriate to accept? Was it being saved for someone else? It looked so good, just like an egg roll is supposed to look at a Chinese buffet, and not what you would expect from your local school cafeteria.

“Do you want some of both?” the server asked me, as she dished out a generous helping of each flavor of chicken in my box, and then she plucked the lone egg roll from its spot, nestling it sideways against the chicken. It was mine, all mine, and I treasured the thought of eating it as I scooped my own servings of rice, vegetables, and fruit.

The server caught me before I left. “Oh, don’t forget your fortune cookie!” 

They had thought of everything. There were even homemade sauces in large squirt bottles at the end of the serving line–yum-yum and spicy chili sauce and even ranch dressing, because this is Alabama and we know that homemade ranch goes with everything, nutritional guidelines be damned.

Plus, this was homecoming week, right? Yes, but the cafeteria manager set the record straight:

“It’s National School Lunch Week, and we’re celebrating with foods from around the world,” she said excitedly, as she bustled around, continuing to clean up. “Do you want little cups for your sauce?”

I declined, as I filled the corners of the large compartment with some yum-yum and spicy chili sauce. I wasn’t about to put her out, this lady who had worked hard, along with her staff, to make her students’ and teachers’ day a little brighter. 

So it made sense now. That’s why I had also seen Italian, Mexican, and Hawaiian themed meals on the menu. “Taste the World: Your School Lunch Passport” was the slogan I found when I looked up National School Lunch Week online.

Friday was American Day–hamburgers and french fries–but I dare not disturb my taste buds with something so common. 

Give me the old Phoenix, Mr. Wang’s, or any other Asian buffet with the words “Panda,” ‘Mandarin,” “Hibachi,” or “Lotus” in the title.

Give me my grandfather with his thoughts of chicken kidneys swirling in the soup.

Give me the first egg roll I ever enjoyed.

Give me more school cafeteria meals that take me away to another time and another place where food provided comfort and a distraction from sad thoughts. Give me more school cafeteria staff who make everyone feel welcome, with their smiles, their attitudes, their homemade sauces, and their remembering the smallest details.

The slip inside my fortune cookie read, “A big fortune will descend upon you this year.”

I got the last egg roll on Thursday. That’s fortune enough.