For two days in a row, Simon has had a very specific lunch request:
- cheese slices. At least one of his (American), and at least one of “Mommy’s” (sharp white cheddar)
- crackers, but not with soft cheese spread on them. Plain, please, with the cheese on the side.
- sliced apple
As I looked at his plate, something about it seemed awfully familiar. And then I realized that barring the Branston pickle, Simon has just requested the preschool version of a ploughman’s lunch.
I’m amused that he ordered this quintessential English pub lunch. I’m even more amused that he seems to have inherited his love for the ploughman’s lunch from me, his French/Moldovan/Lithuanian/Belarussian mother, and not the parent bearing the quintessential English surname “Whitworth”.