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Novelist Shahnaz Ahsan on growing up with jam roly-poly, apple crumble and sticky toffee puddingMention school dinners to anyone and you will be met with either groans of disgust or moans of delight. For some, the phrase evokes memories of comfort: shepherd’s pie, cheese whirl, jam roly-poly and custard. Others are reminded of beige, bland mush: soggy cabbage, chewy liver and onions, lumpy rice pudding.They seem to occupy a special place in the national psyche, more potent than mere nostalgia. Think Marcus Rashford winning near universal admiration for campaigning for the provision of free meals for schoolchildren during the pandemic, or Jamie Oliver’s crusade against the Turkey Twizzler during his school dinners campaign. What schoolchildren eat for lunch has become a litmus test for how we are doing as a country. In April last year, Aberdeenshire council was forced to stop serving grapes as part of an overall bid to save more than £20m. Slicing them was deemed too labour intensive and expensive. (When the council cut custard and ice-cream in keeping with new guidelines curbing sugar intake, two 11-year-old pupils successfully petitioned for their return.) Five months later, Lancashire county council announced its school menus would be temporarily reduced, with only jacket potatoes, soups and sandwiches on offer because of a shortage of lorry drivers. If school dinners are a commentary on the state of the nation, then the same societal issues – inequality, austerity, the pandemic – are often reflected in our canteens. Continue reading...