There comes a point in every adult’s life when you take a long, hard look at your dining habits and think, “How did I get here?” For some, it’s when they’re scraping the bottom of yet another greasy takeout container at 2 a.m., wondering if that lingering heartburn is their body’s polite way of saying, “Please, for the love of all things holy, eat some veggies.” For me, it was the day I found myself arguing with a meal delivery service over the definition of “no curry”—a delightful spice that, as it turns out, is more than happy to turn my digestive system into a warzone.
So, how could a person who prides herself on being reasonably intelligent repeatedly fall into the trap of ordering overpriced takeout and signing up for meal kits that seem to believe curry is an essential nutrient? The answer, dear reader, is both simple and tragic: it’s convenience, plus a small dash of laziness.
Now, I’m no stranger to the idea that a steady diet of takeout is, shall we say, less than ideal. But who among us hasn’t found comfort in the familiar embrace of a well-seasoned lo mein or the comforting presence of a cardboard pizza box after a long day of pretending to be a responsible adult? The problem is that what starts as a harmless affair with delivery apps soon snowballs into a full-blown dependency. Before you know it, you’re standing at your front door in pajamas, smiling like an idiot at the delivery driver while pretending you don’t have four identical takeout bags crumpled in the trash can behind you.
But let’s talk about those meal delivery services. They promise to make you feel like a gourmet chef without the hassle of grocery shopping. It seems like the perfect solution for a time-starved individual such as me. Unfortunately, reality has a way of kicking you in the teeth — or, in my case, assaulting your taste buds with an ungodly amount of curry.
I’m not exaggerating when I say that the universe seems to have a vendetta against me when it comes to curry. Despite my repeated pleas—both in writing and through the frantic tone of my emails—to exclude the spice from my meals, it appeared in dish after dish, as if the company was determined to challenge the limits of my allergy. Heck, they even put it in oatmeal – this is no joke! Perhaps they were testing my resolve, or maybe they just had an overstock of curry powder they needed to offload. Either way, the result was the same: me, stuck on the toilet, cursing the culinary gods and reconsidering my life choices.
Then there was the smoothie mix that seemed to be a blend of exotic fruits and superfoods. Charming as this sounds, upon further inspection, however, it turned out to have the same flavor profile as, and I kid you not, plant fertilizer. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. Hey, at least I could cross “drink top shelf fertilizer” off my bucket list.
So, the allure of convenience is nothing more than a siren song, promising to simplify your life but often delivers nothing more than an endless parade of bland, overpriced meals. Yet, despite the obvious drawbacks, we persist in this folly. After all, who has the energy to cook after a day of fending off the chaos of modern life? The alternative, which is cooking actual nutritious meals, requires planning, effort, and time, all of which seem to evaporate by the time you stumble home from whatever fresh hell the day has thrown at you.
In the end, this culinary catastrophe is about more than just food. We must more strongly consider the choices we make when we’re too tired to make good ones. Otherwise, they become small acts of self-sabotage that add up to a life lived in perpetual dissatisfaction. We eat takeout not because we don’t know it’s bad for us, but because it’s easier than confronting the messiness of our lives and our need for instant gratification.
So, what’s the solution? Do we abandon our beloved takeout in favor of wholesome, home-cooked meals? The better option is to find a balance. We can allow for the occasional indulgence without surrendering entirely to the convenience trap. Of course, a life without the occasional greasy bag of lo mein is no life at all. For now, I’ll settle for avoiding any more surprise curries and steering clear of anything that even remotely resembles plant fertilizer.
~ Amelia Desertsong
