- Feb 5, 2002
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In a recent New York Times article entitled “Freedom With a Side of Guilt: How Food Delivery Is Reshaping Mealtime,” we learn that almost three out of four restaurant orders nationwide are delivered, rather than actually enjoyed in the restaurant. The author, Priya Krishna, interviews a young woman who spends $300 a week, roughly a third of her salary, on delivery. Another woman works as a sommelier but, nonetheless, has most of her food delivered at home. As we learn, “She no longer feels the social pressure she once did to meet friends for dinner.” It seems that most of those interviewed by the Times feel vaguely guilty about delivery drivers and the environment, but not, of course, enough to inconvenience themselves.
We also meet a couple from Atlanta, Kevin Caldwell and his husband, who spend about $700 a week to order in. They are, we are told, too busy raising their two young boys and working long hours to cook dinner. “His 4-year-old son doesn’t read yet, ‘but he can put together an order’ on the Chick-fil-A app, said Mr. Caldwell, 39.”
Well. It’s hard to know where to begin.
On the one hand, I too enjoy the occasional take-out dinner. When our daughter was young, every two weeks or so, we ordered pizza from our beloved neighborhood institution, V&T’s, on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. The same husky voice always answered the phone, and she always called me “honey.” In those days, we paid the delivery man in cash, and the pizza arrived piping hot.
On take-out night, I set the coffee table in the living room, rather than our apartment’s dining room table, but we still used candles and linen napkins. We sat on the floor, sometimes in our pajamas, and watched an old movie. It was a cozy, relaxing evening for all of us—a comforting family ritual.
Continued below.
We also meet a couple from Atlanta, Kevin Caldwell and his husband, who spend about $700 a week to order in. They are, we are told, too busy raising their two young boys and working long hours to cook dinner. “His 4-year-old son doesn’t read yet, ‘but he can put together an order’ on the Chick-fil-A app, said Mr. Caldwell, 39.”
Well. It’s hard to know where to begin.
On the one hand, I too enjoy the occasional take-out dinner. When our daughter was young, every two weeks or so, we ordered pizza from our beloved neighborhood institution, V&T’s, on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. The same husky voice always answered the phone, and she always called me “honey.” In those days, we paid the delivery man in cash, and the pizza arrived piping hot.
On take-out night, I set the coffee table in the living room, rather than our apartment’s dining room table, but we still used candles and linen napkins. We sat on the floor, sometimes in our pajamas, and watched an old movie. It was a cozy, relaxing evening for all of us—a comforting family ritual.
Continued below.
