Georgia and I rode our borrowed bike [0] to meet Emily and Baxter at the park for some quality time when the kids play and the moms figure out solutions to all the world’s problems. Usually between the two of us Emily and I have loads of food to feed the kids, and a bit to munch ourselves. Today we were both a little light in the healthful snack department, and we figured we’d wait until the kids were hungry and then head over to Emily’s for lunch.

But then the kids saw the lunch station. Here in Portland there is a summer program to feed any kid who wants a lunch. It’s aimed at assuring low-income kids a decent midday meal, as a continuation of the school lunch program, but no child is turned away. Our kids were feeling suddenly hungry and very excluded (thankfully these aren't really familiar feelings to them, unlike many of the kids who need these lunches), so we asked if there were any meals available. We were assured there were plenty, so we let our kids have a meal.

I was curious what would be in it—the Momster in me wondered what plastic-wrapped goods were being offered to children in the name of nutrition. And it didn’t look too bad, actually: a plastic-wrapped sandwich, an unwrapped plum, a plastic bag of carrots with a container of dip, and a plastic foil bag of Goldfish. All over-wrapped in plastic on a foam tray. A lot of white flour, certainly too much salt, waaaaay too much plastic, but it could have been much worse. But let me tell you about this sandwich.

It was a round UFO of a sandwich, peanut butter and grape jelly, on discs of white bread with a pinched piecrusts on the edges instead of bread crust. This is apparently the main selling point of the sandwich, and those of you who see commercials probably have seen it a million times, but out on the fringe where we reside, this was news. A round sandwich with the peanut butter and jelly concealed inside! The kids were excited—I was excited! One of the reasons I am so careful trying to teach Georgia about healthful choices, need vs. want, ads and consumerism is that I have been highly susceptible to clever marketing schemes in the past. I looked at the wrapper for the nutritional information, and not surprisingly it wasn’t such a great deal for the kids. High-fructose corn syrup, hydrogenated oils, preservatives. But would they like it?

They bit through the anti-crust into the smooth peanut butter and jiggly jelly, and mouthed the morsel with pleasure. But the second and third bites were less well received, and neither of the kids finished more than a quarter of the sandwich saucer. And after ten minutes out of the wrapper, the bread had a really weird texture, and we weren’t getting another bite of it into them. I was going to admonish Georgia, “Eat two more bites of your sandwich” but then realized it was the least nutritious part of the meal.

I’m sure she will never ask for it again, even if we happened to pass it in a store. If she had seen it and wanted it, I would have had to put on my lecture-voice and explain all the wrongs of pre-packaged food. And she would have felt like she was missing out on something. This way I can remind us both about the “weird and yucky” sandwich when she sees something packaged oh-so-desirably. And I feel lucky that these are the things I have to worry about, and not if my daughter gets lunch at all.

There’s still the issue of dubious nutrition. Obviously the company that makes these sandwiches can afford to be generous to a federally funded lunch program in exchange for brand awareness. I think as people become more aware of the food industry’s apathy about health, passing off a cruddy sandwich as a nutritious lunch to underprivileged kids won’t be acceptable.

Emily and I will add that to our list of problems to solve.