Dinner with Dad: Beans on toast, in front of the telly, laugh at the comedy show, drop beans on the couch, let the dog lick them off, talk with mouths full of toast, spray crumbs over the carpet, drinks perched precariously on arm of couch, pile plates on counter next to dishwasher.
Organic veggies with fish? Now that has to win the prize for the most ironic dish ever.
Dinner with Gran: elbows off the table, sit up straight, chew with your mouth shut, take small bites, make pleasant conversation, don't talk with your mouth full, finish your plates, use your napkin, ask permission to leave the table, help clear the table, sweep the floor, help wash the dishes.
Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef slices as thin as paper, noodles in a green sauce, cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet blue grapes. The servers, all young people dressed in white tunics move wordlessly to and from the table, keeping the platters an glasses full.
Found in The Hunger Games, authored by .