I write this knowing I will be waking up at an ungodly hour in the morning, packing my car full of as many teenage girls as I have seat belts and joining a small caravan to the Florida Panhandle.
My wife and I made the foolhardy decision to chaperone a group of 16 11th-graders during spring break. Other parents will be staying nearby, but we’ll be the ones sharing the beach house with this brood and cooking for them every night.
This must be doable. I remember my parents’ generation going through massive Old El Paso taco kits whenever more than 10 children needed food. But I’m afraid that ship has sailed.
Of the 16, we have one garden-variety vegetarian, one strict vegan and one who eats fish but nothing higher on the phylogenetic tree.
We have a couple of kids who do not let fish cross their lips but love all kinds of meat.
And we have three kids who do not tolerate gluten because of celiac disease or other diagnoses.
I am assuming this beach house will be equipped with a