The Scholastic Book Fair … “No Posters.” – Mom
Long before human hierarchy was largely determined by the social currency of delicately curated egg dishes, there was one week that separated the Royalty and the Plebeians. Most closely assimilated to the Amazon Prime of our youth, the Scholastic Book Fair was one of the most highly anticipated events to happen all year, besides Field Day and that time the Yo-Yo guy came to perform.
Deep into the library industrial complex, children were pied piper’ed by the allure of Captain Underpants, Roller Coast Tycoon, Gummy Pencil Grips, and some terribly deep life lessons brought to you by The Berenstain Bears. The anticipation had been brewing for weeks prior, when students were sent home with catalogs, order forms and a mission to convince their parents to buy them everything they circled, including the $20 book about drawing dragons from which they would try the first picture, fail, and never open the book again. On the day of the fair, those who came to school with crisp $20 bill(s) were propelled to the higher tier of the social echelon and they strategically made their purchases subconsciously motivated by their innate human flaws. You had the kids who would burn the whole lot on posters of Shaq, the NBA All-Star team, Puppies and Kittens in baskets, and in the place of the modern Justin Beiber, some fathead of Aaron Carter. There was always that one rich kid who would pull $50 from an undisclosed wad of cash in his velcro key chain wallet to buy the latest gold embossed hardcover of the Guinness Book of World Records. These were the same individuals who kept laminated Power Ranger cards in binders. You also had the kids who would lurk quietly in the shadowy corner while pretending to read, but they were really copying down the Game Genie codes for NES. Of the book readers, there were three distinct categories to fall into: Animorphs, the slobsters who bought The Stinky Cheese Man, and sociopaths who purchased Goosebumps/Fear Street. I will actually volunteer myself for psychological assessment of residual effects of those choose-your-own-ending books with messed up illustrations meant to haunt children’s’ souls.
Me? Shocker to all, I was a “Music of Dolphins” girl.
I blame my unrealistic expectations of life largely on the promises made by this book
Much to the chagrin of our elders, I pin complete blame on the good Samaritans at Scholastic for training our generation of delicate, well-fed snowflakes to drop outrageous amounts of money on brunch and craft cocktails. That’s my excuse and I allow anyone to use this for similar validation purposes.
Chalk Point Kitchen‘s Shaved Black Tuscan Kale And Baby Cabbage salad with lentils, quinoa, local lady apples, pistachios, black pepper, herb goat cheese and salmonnnn.
a
Black Barn‘s Smoked Salmon Tartine with dill crème fraîche, trout caviar, fennel, and a poached egg on cheese toast
a
Raw Material‘s off-menu burger, the Burger Bomb, which is essentially your average cheeseburger, save for one key detail: a hollowed-out top bun that’s filled with a house cheese sauce made with aged cheddar, cream, and herbs
a
Harold’s Meat + Three‘s Hanger Steak with eggs, asparagus and grits
a
Sugarfish (no tipping restaurant)’s “Trust Me” with organic edamame, tuna sashimi, albacore sushi, salmon sushi, yellowtail sushi, hirame sushi, snapper sushi, toro hand roll and blue crab hand roll
a
White Gold Butchers‘ Chopped Cheese with burger meat, melted American cheese layed on thick and a whole mess of pickles
a
a
Leuca‘s Sheep’s Milk Ricotta with Hot Honey & Garlica
Also from Leuca…Wood-Roasted Sunchokes, Hazelnuts, Garlic Crema