I believe there should be breakfast, lunch and afternoon snack

Host: The school cafeteria was empty now — its long tables silent, its metal trays stacked like echoes of laughter and hunger. The faint scent of tomatoes, soap, and sunlight lingered in the air, the aftermath of a thousand meals both humble and holy. Outside, the evening light spilled through the wide glass windows, painting the floor in long amber rectangles.

Jack stood near the serving counter, his sleeves rolled up, wiping down the last of the tables. Jeeny sat cross-legged on a bench, holding a small paper cup of coffee, watching him with a quiet kind of admiration. There were posters on the walls — “Healthy Kids, Healthy Planet” — faded, curling at the edges.

Host: The world outside might have been about profit and policy, but here, in this humble cafeteria, the only economy that mattered was compassion.

Jeeny: (softly) “Alice Waters once said, ‘I believe there should be breakfast, lunch and afternoon snack, all for free and for every child that goes to school. And all food that is good, clean and fair.’”

(she looks up at Jack) “Imagine that, Jack. A world where every child eats like it matters.”

Jack: (sighing, setting down the rag) “It sounds beautiful, but also impossible. Governments can barely feed their budgets — how do you expect them to feed souls too?”

Jeeny: “It’s not about governments. It’s about priorities. We spend billions teaching kids what to think, but we won’t spend a fraction teaching them how to live well.”

Jack: “You mean teaching them to appreciate kale?”

Jeeny: (smiling) “No. Teaching them that food is more than fuel. That a meal is dignity on a plate.”

Host: The light shifted, golden now, the kind of light that makes even dust look divine. The cafeteria seemed to breathe — quiet, tired, but still alive.

Jack: “You talk like feeding children is a revolution.”

Jeeny: “It is. Alice Waters believed food could change society — one plate, one season, one student at a time. Feed them well, and they’ll start asking better questions about everything else — where things come from, who grows them, who gets left out.”

Jack: “That’s idealism talking.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But idealism is how every meal starts. Someone has to believe the seed can grow before it’s planted.”

Host: He paused, leaning against the counter, watching her. She looked small in the wide room, but her conviction filled the space like warmth from an oven.

Jack: “You really think a free lunch changes the world?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because hunger changes a child before any textbook does. You can’t learn curiosity on an empty stomach.”

Jack: (quietly) “I grew up poor, you know. I remember pretending I wasn’t hungry just to make my mother worry less.”

Jeeny: (softly) “And how many kids are still pretending that today?”

Host: The silence thickened — the kind that isn’t empty but heavy with memory. Outside, the sound of a school bell echoed faintly in the distance, a final call to a day already ending.

Jeeny: “It’s not just food. It’s justice. Imagine a world where no child feels shame at lunchtime — where no one has to hide their hunger behind pride. That’s what Waters meant by ‘good, clean, and fair.’”

Jack: “Good food for the body. Clean for the planet. Fair for the people who make it.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The fluorescent lights above flickered, one bulb struggling to stay awake. The sound was faint — a low hum, like a question that refused to die.

Jack: “You know what bothers me most? We call it charity when it should just be civilization.”

Jeeny: “That’s the truth. Feeding children shouldn’t be noble. It should be normal.”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “Maybe the problem is we’ve forgotten that schools aren’t just for learning. They’re supposed to be sanctuaries — places that protect the small from the world’s indifference.”

Jeeny: “And the world’s indifference begins at hunger.”

Host: She stood, walked to the window, and looked out at the empty playground — the swings creaking softly in the wind. The sky had turned the color of ripe peaches, tender and fading.

Jeeny: “You ever notice how children eat? They don’t negotiate with their food. They don’t moralize it. They just trust it. We lose that as adults — that sense that food is joy, not guilt.”

Jack: “And we replace it with convenience. Fast food. Cheap food. Empty calories for empty days.”

Jeeny: “Because it’s easier to mass-produce satisfaction than cultivate meaning.”

Host: The sound of a distant garbage truck broke the stillness. Somewhere, someone was throwing away enough food to feed a classroom.

Jack: (quietly) “You know, when I was ten, I thought being rich meant never being hungry again. Now I realize it’s about never being starved — not for food, but for connection.”

Jeeny: “That’s what Alice understood. That food is the first bridge we ever build — between the earth and ourselves, between people and care. It’s the simplest love language.”

Jack: “You think love can feed a nation?”

Jeeny: “It’s the only thing that ever has.”

Host: The camera lingers as the two stand in the golden quiet — one looking out, one looking inward. The world beyond the window feels far away, but the truth inside this small cafeteria burns close, clear, and human.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack… imagine if every cafeteria smelled like this — like real food, made by real hands. No plastic trays, no processed sludge. Just color, taste, respect. Imagine the lessons kids would learn without a single word spoken.”

Jack: “They’d learn gratitude.”

Jeeny: “And equality. Because hunger doesn’t discriminate, but empathy shouldn’t either.”

Host: The sun dipped lower, the last light washing the room in amber warmth before slipping away entirely.

Jack: (after a pause) “So… breakfast, lunch, snack — all for free, all for everyone. Sounds like a dream.”

Jeeny: “Every revolution starts as one.”

Host: The camera pulls back, the two figures now small against the wide emptiness of the cafeteria — the remnants of the day’s meals still faintly visible in the light.

Host: Outside, the first stars began to appear, scattered like grains of salt across the sky.

Host: And in the hush that follows, Alice Waters’ words linger not as idealism but as instruction — a recipe for a gentler world:

Host: That feeding a child isn’t an act of kindness —
but an act of justice.

Host: That good food is the first lesson,
clean intention the second,
and fairness the third —
and together, they make not just a meal,
but a way of living.

Host: The lights flick off.
The world, hungry for change, waits.