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That fear overshadowed the occasional nice pudding, or something agreeable like the chipolatas, sadly always ruined by the accompanying lumpy mash. They improved somewhat at my convent, senior school, cooked in the kitchens by the nuns who seemed to at least have some culinary know how, rather than being supplied by the local council in industrial sized containers as they were at junior school. We were also given the choice at senior school to have a hot cooked meal or bring our own packed lunch if we wished.