I don't know if I'd call it a favorite, but there was an entree

In the words of Adam Rex: “I don't know if I'd call it a favorite, but there was an entrée in the rotation at my grade school cafeteria called Salisbury Steak that was some kind of freestanding spongiform potage covered in a sauce that would probably have to be spelled 'grayvee' for legal reasons.” These words, though filled with humor, carry within them a profound reflection on memory, culture, and the strange ways in which the simplest foods come to symbolize entire eras of our lives. Behind the jest, there is truth: that our early experiences shape us, and even humble cafeteria meals, ill-prepared and mocked, can become the vessels of nostalgia and shared humanity.

The ancients often used humble things—bread, olives, water, wine—as symbols of great truths. They knew that food is not merely sustenance, but story, memory, and community. Rex recalls the Salisbury Steak, a dish intended to nourish, yet transformed by industrial kitchens into something almost unrecognizable: a “spongiform potage” molded into the likeness of meat, swimming beneath an imitation sauce. In this image we see more than a childhood lunch; we see the condition of modernity, where abundance is provided without care, and where the form of nourishment sometimes lacks the substance of love.

Consider how school cafeterias themselves stand as symbols of institutional life. For generations of children, the cafeteria is the great hall of daily communion, where all sit together and receive what has been prepared, whether delightful or dreadful. The Salisbury Steak Rex describes may not have been beloved, but it was common to all, binding classmates in shared complaint, shared laughter, and shared endurance. What was served may not have been truly food in spirit, but it gave rise to memory—and memory, even of hardship or humor, nourishes the soul.

History offers us parallels. Roman legions survived on meager rations of grain gruel and sour wine, food so poor that poets mocked it in their verse. Yet these rations, unlovely as they were, became the fuel of empire, binding soldiers together in discipline and shared experience. So too, in the memory of Rex, the cafeteria meal, though tasteless and strange, is remembered with affection because it is a symbol of endurance, of growing up, of surviving the small trials of youth. The “grayvee” is not just a sauce, but the embodiment of every imperfect provision given to us along the journey of life.

The deeper meaning of this quote is that not all nourishment is found in perfection. Sometimes it is the flawed, the odd, the laughable that endures in our memory and teaches us resilience. A fine feast may be forgotten, but the strange and barely edible dish stays with us, a reminder of where we have been and how we endured. Life gives us many kinds of food, both literal and symbolic. Some are rich, others poor; some satisfying, others disappointing. Yet all serve their purpose in shaping who we are.

And so the lesson is this: embrace even the strange “Salisbury Steaks” of life, for they, too, form the fabric of your journey. Do not despise the humble, the imperfect, the laughable, for within them may lie the seeds of stories you will carry forever. As the ancients taught, nothing is wasted if it is remembered, and even the poorest meal may give rise to wisdom.

So let this teaching endure: take joy in memory, even of the unlovely things. Cherish the humor, the resilience, and the companionship found in shared struggle. Whether it is the “grayvee” of the school cafeteria or the bitter bread of hard times, these are the meals that strengthen not only the body but the soul. For it is not the perfection of what we consume that shapes us, but the way we endure it, remember it, and turn it into a story worth passing on.