I loved the smells and tastes from the canteen in my liceo, the secondary school which I spent five years of my life hating so deeply. I tried to avoid having to stay in at lunchtime, even if going back home was a bit of a mad rush, but not because I hated the food -I loved it, good old Venezuelan fare, often 'caraotas; -black bean soup or refried beans, a simple white rice with beans or chorizo, sweet ripe fried plantains. I don't recall hardly ever eating the puddings although I know I loved the ‘majarete’, a sort of jellied rice confection covered in ground cinnamon. I loved the food but I hated staying in school for lunch because of the environment of my classmates which, I felt, picked on me, bullied me even and had great fun at my expense. That may or may not have been true, this doesn't matter -it is what that thirteen year old boy that flavio was then, felt as he had to, in is memory try to hide his weak spots or he'd be destroyed by his far more aggressive mates.
