As a kid, my favorite lunch box was a rectangular blue plastic Lion King-themed container, complete with a matching thermos. I thought it was pretty amazing, as the front of it sported a picture of Timon and Pumbaa dancing along to “Hakuna Matata.” But the best part about my lunch box was what lay beneath the cool blue exterior. Every day of kindergarten around 12 o’clock noon, I would sit down with my fellow classmates and open my lunchbox. It was an exciting moment, one looked forward to by all. The food inside was always a surprise, my mom liked it that way, something to keep me on my feet. She loved packing my lunch and would make it special each day. There would always be a main course, which was usually a sandwich (peanut butter and jelly!) or leftovers from the previous night’s dinner. To keep things healthy, Mom would always be sure to include a piece of fruit and some sort of vegetable. I always ate these first, as they were my least favorite part. And of course, I saved the best for last. When I was younger, my mom would make a fresh batch of cookies at least once a week. And each week they would be different, as she loved experimenting with different ingredients and combinations. One thing remained consistent, and that was that they always included chocolate in some shape or form. That part I was definitely a fan of. So, every day I would excitedly search through my blue box, intent on discovering the unique sweet of the day. I would just look at it as I ate the rest of my lunch. The cookie was always my incentive to finish the other more mundane food.
A couple days ago, however, I discovered a new type of of lunchbox, the Japanese obento. After reading an article on the subject, I quickly discovered that the tradition of this Japanese lunchbox was much different from my own lunch-bringing experiences. Instead of being a common, everyday, laid-back procedure as lunch-packing and eating were for me growing up; this Japanese style is completely different. Perfection and aesthetics are key ideas involved with the obento-making process. Most Japanese mothers spend up to 45 minutes per night creating small, compartmentalized, edible works of art for their children to consume at nursery school the next day. "Eaten quickly in its entirety by the student, the obento must be fashioned by the mother so as to expedite this chore for the child. Both mother and child are being watched, judged, and constructed; and it is only through their joint effort that the goal can be accomplished" (Allison 195). The reason for this vast amount of time and effort on the mother’s part is because she is being judged by the school-teachers through the obento she makes for her child. Her child is then also judged on whether he or she can consume the obento in a timely fashion, which is also another reflection on the mother’s abilities to create appetizing food.
Growing up, I never experienced this kind of intense pressure regarding something as ordinary as a school-lunch. In kindergarten, I remember the teachers encouraging the children to finish all of their food, but it still was never a big deal if something was thrown away or remained uneaten.
I was lucky enough to experience this culture first-hand and create my own bento for another girl in my “Food for Thought” class at the University of Washington. It was a very interesting process, consisting of intricate slicing, rice ball-making, and creative presentation. After about forty minutes of hard work and a bit of frustration, I had finished my smiley-face obento. Taking part in this lunch-creating process myself really allowed me to realize what Japanese mothers went through every night, as well as how obviously important it was to their reputation to produce a product that was socially acceptable. I also came to the conclusion that lunchtime in Japanese versus American nursery schools are extremely different operations.
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