Recently, while enjoying a five-minute lunch break of Fritos and a Slim Jim at my desk, I heard the joyful laughter of a group of summer campers and their counselors heading off for an afternoon of lunching.

Was I jealous of their frivolity? Envious of their carelessness? Bitter that I was not invited? Nope. I was grateful I was taking care of my biological need to feed my brain without losing two solid hours of billing time. Don't get me wrong -- every now and then I indulge in an hourlong lunch break over a sandwich with an old pal, heading into the open air for some salad and socialization. But the days of daily group lunches are a distant memory.

The change in my lunch routine over the years seems pretty consistent with the lunch patterns of my peers at the Big Firm. A Cog's place in the lunch cycle can be articulated by a simple analysis of five factors at any one stage of a Big Firm career: (1) length of time on the job, (2) menu, (3) lunch companions, (4) typical conversation and (5) source of payment.

SUMMER CAMP

As a summer associate, your entire day revolves around lunch. Scheduling lunches for the entire summer is just as important as trying to demonstrate some promise of future legal skills. You must meet, greet, impress and mingle to ensure someone picks you out of the herd. But don't fret -- the Firm also wants to impress you in order to keep its offer/acceptance ratio to an acceptable level for reporting to law school placement offices. Lunch is a perfect tool for everyone, which is why summer lunch stats look something like this:

Duration: Two hours.

Menu: Crab bisque, pan-seared mahimahi with a chutney salsa, lemon bar, coffee.

Attendees: Summer associates and attorney recruiters.

Conversation: "Where is the retreat this year? Don't forget your sunblock!"

Picking up the tab: The Firm.

THE EARLY YEARS

Once you've landed the Big Firm gig, lunches are a chance to bond with your classmates. After all, you spent that "one crazy summer" together and are now sharing a journey as part of the same Big Firm family. The regularly scheduled group lunches help ease the transition during a baby Cog's tender years.

Duration: One hour.

Menu: Penne pasta with pesto and grilled chicken, Coke.

Attendees: Four of your closest classmates.

Conversation: "Should I stop billing when I go to the bathroom?" "Have any of you ever heard of a 'Bates' number?" "How is it possible to sit still long enough to bill nine hours a day?"

Picking up the tab: You're on your own, but with the cash you are making -- and no family to support yet -- it's still practically free.

THE AWKWARD ADOLESCENT YEARS

By year 4, you will begin a gradual entry into the "awkward lunch" years. This transition away from the group lunch hour to the Slim Jim at your desk creeps up on you.

Attendance at your regular lunches with your closest Cog friends will, gradually, dwindle each year. First, Lisa will decide to move back to Idaho to take over her family's farm, then Jimmy will realize that becoming a permanent student will allow him to collect his trust fund without having to bill any more hours. The next thing you know, your weekly calendar reminder -- "Lunch Bunch at Noon!" -- will need to be disabled.

Duration: 30 minutes.

Menu: Club sandwich, pickle spear, Doritos, Diet Coke.

Attendees: You and one of the other two remaining "endangered species" from your starting class of 50.

Conversation: "I always thought Linda was a Lifer. I can't believe she quit to start her own specialty chocolate store. I mean, her truffles are amazing, but she was a sixth-year. She was almost there, almost ready to make a bid for partnership!"

Picking up the tab: If you aren't already bringing your lunch from home, you're paying for yourself but limiting your expenses in order to stay in budget. With the 20 percent survival rate of Cogs, you have reason to worry about how your mortgage will be paid if you, too, fail to hang on.

THE DARK YEARS

If you manage to survive long enough to become a senior associate, you will enter the dark lunch years. Sure, you can go out and mingle with your old law school mates at lunch -- but it had better have a potential business development purpose.

Your ability to develop business now matters considerably more than whether you were on Law Review or at the top of your law school class. And the scrutiny is on to determine if you should be allowed to join the partnership ranks. If you aren't able to show business development potential, you'd better skip lunch and hope that you can bill your way into the club.

Duration: Five minutes.

Menu: Peanut butter crackers, tap water in a foam cup.

Attendees: You and your laptop.

Conversation: Silent voice in your head saying, "It is worth it!"

Picking up the tab: You'd better keep a roll of quarters for the vending machine.

THERE'S HOPE!

I know, that was a total bummer. But the dark years are temporary -- at least if you make partner.

The partnership years will bring back the good old days of long expense-account lunches!

Well, not the junior partner years; those seem pretty bleak unless you manage to find clients of your own.

But once you become an equity holder, you get the lunch everyone is hoping for: the Power Partnership Lunch! After years of climbing the ladder, you have arrived when you have become a successful partner who gets to take a two-hour lunch with your client or the other Power Partners. Oh ... appetizers are back!

Duration: Two hours -- often billable!

Menu: Selection of Old World cheeses, flank steak with new potatoes, chocolate mousse soufflé, red wine, café au lait.

Attendees: You, one of your partners and both the VP and the CEO from UberCorp.

Conversation: "That deal was amazing for the company and the Firm! We've achieved a real 'synergy.'"

Picking up the tab: One way or another -- the client. Free lunches are back! Yee-haw!

Of course, this final lunch phase only reflects the gustatory pleasures I imagine partners partake of when I see some of the bigwigs roll out of the office toward a steakhouse with an entourage of unknown suits. Now, maybe the suits are just on the way to the airport, and the partners swing by Subway, split an Italian BMT and a bag of Sun Chips and talk about how much they wish they could eat a steak instead -- if only all those Cog salary increases stopped dipping into their lunch fund.

Maybe not. Anyway, if you'll excuse me, my stomach is rumbling, and I think I'll go "snap into a Slim Jim."

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