Hicks is a member of Johnson Central High’s best-known club, which is only open to teachers and staff at the Paintsville, Ky., school. The JCHS Lunch Bunch has been eating together during the school’s first lunch period, at 11:05 a.m., for years. And for years, it was nothing more than a tightknit group of friends at a small-town high school in Eastern Kentucky. Until September. That’s when Nicki Caudill, a biology teacher and testing coordinator, had a spur-of-the-moment idea.
“I just grabbed my cellphone,” Caudill said, “and was like, ‘What are you having for lunch today?’”
Nine months later, members of the JCHS Lunch Bunch have answered Caudill’s question more than 100 times each. In the process, they’ve become the stars of perhaps the most inexplicably charming account on TikTok, with nearly 30,000 followers and scores of commenters each day.
Teachers are buried in salads sent by companies eager to partner with their account, and their shelves are stocked with complimentary sugar-free drink syrups. Weight Watchers has sponsored catering and made them custom sweatshirts. Burger King, Hardee’s and Taylor Farms (the source of all that lettuce) regularly interact with the TikTok. Fan mail is common, and the teachers have grown accustomed to being recognized at local restaurants, at airports, at jam-packed concerts and even at University of Kentucky football games.
But why? How did this kooky group of educators amass a following nearly 10 times the size of the population of Paintsville (4,200), the town where they work and where most of them have spent most of their lives?
English teacher Amiee Webb has one theory: “I think it’s because we’re nuts.” Caudill has another: “Work is not usually associated with fun.”
And the Lunch Bunch has fun. But that’s not the extent of what makes it special. The 12 JCHS staffers who make up the Lunch Bunch regulars are, above all else, relatable and reliable. Matt Cantrell, who teaches English, despises condiments and is subject to predictable giggling and good-natured teasing any time he opens a box of chicken nuggets and starts munching on them dry. His wife, nurse practitioner Lyndsay Cantrell, shows off her metabolism as she spreads hamburgers and bags of cookies across her desk each day — and the teachers who are dieting smile as they voice their jealousy. Most days, Tish Sturgill, another English teacher, packs what she calls a “love sandwich,” made that morning by her husband. When it’s missing, there’s cause for concern.
It’s easy to feel like you know these people — and they swear they’re the same when the camera turns off, the same when they’re in their classrooms teaching. (After all, they note, students watch the videos.) The Lunch Bunchers will let you in on their jokes, even if you just encountered them on your phone screen. Even though many of them have been friends their entire lives. Stuck at your desk, working from home, eating a sad excuse for a midday meal? Press play on the day’s TikTok, and there, you’ve earned six minutes of good company.
You’ll learn about lunches, why someone wound up with a plate of Chinese takeout pizza or an odd assortment of leftovers, or why someone had to crack open their emergency can of soup. And in the process, you’ll also learn about the educators’ lives. Some share their weight-loss goals and others showcase their quirky tastes. Some days, there’s actual cooking; the group eats in Webb’s classroom, which is outfitted with a kitchenette, and lately, she’s been air-frying torn-up pita bread, occasionally burning it to a dark-brown crisp. And sometimes members show off new accessories, like a Crockpot-brand lunch box that can heat up a meal gradually over the course of a morning.
Caudill is usually the woman behind the camera, and every time a teacher finishes presenting his or her food, she asks a follow-up: “What’s for to drink?” The bizarre syntax, Caudill explained, comes from another Southern, food-focused TikToker, Dakota Wright. Caudill started saying it as a joke, because the phrasing annoyed her to no end. But it stuck. “I think I’ve said it so long now, I probably say it in restaurants,” Caudill said.
“For to drink,” her fellow teachers reply, showing off an assortment of canned beverages. There are protein shakes and Diet Cokes, Monster energy drinks, coffees and lemonades. There are McFlurries and massive fountain sodas and a concoction made from one of those sugar-free syrups, which the Lunch Bunch calls “mermaid water.”
In April, math teacher Missy Willis held up a can of Diet Coke and swore it would be her last. The Lunch Bunch would hold her accountable — and so would the legions of good-natured TikTok commenters. Those commenters were on Caudill’s mind when she recently dined at a buffet restaurant and went for her third plate. Caudill has shed 75 pounds since January 2023 and speaks frequently on TikTok about her weight-loss goals, so when a Lunch Bunch fan stopped her that day, her stomach flipped. “I think it helps me be more accountable when I have more than just my Lunch Bunch watching what I eat,” she said. “… And I thought, ‘Oh, shoot, she saw me go to the buffet three times.’”
That accountability has carried over into the summer. Since school let out in late May, the Lunch Bunch has posted several videos, spliced-together montages shot in restaurants and at teachers’ homes. In the comments, viewers discuss Lunch Bunch sightings, like well-meaning, small-town paparazzi. Lunch, it turns out, transcends the school year.
Since the inception of the TikTok account, the group of colleagues has drawn comparisons to another hit show, “The Office.” They’re a modern workplace sitcom, delivered in snippets. They’re a TikTok account about teachers eating lunch, but the school and the food are secondary. So is their little slice of FoodTok fame. Caudill said the Lunch Bunch has yet to make a cent off the account, and there are no plans to monetize. In fact, many Lunch Bunchers are still confused by the attention, nine months after it began.
“I guess we always thought it was strange that people would like to see what we were eating,” Sturgill said. And maybe “The Office” explains it best, in the final line of the final episode of the show. “There’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things,” Pam Beasley says. “Isn’t that kind of the point?”
