Op-Ed: My Strange Addiction: Buying Too Much Produce and Then, When It Inevitably Goes Bad, Ritualistically Throwing It Away With My Roommate While Going “We’re So Terrible” Over and Over
Save for the meal prep demons and whoever Hello Fresh is advertising to, I’d say we all have our dietary vices. Sometimes it’s the BOGO Publix cookies arranged conveniently at the entrance, waiting to seduce you as soon as the automatic doors slide open. Other times it’s a well-timed free delivery notification that I can use to convince myself I’m actually saving money every time I use Bitesquad. My current edible affliction, however, revolves around food I never actually eat (and would definitely not be safe to). Cursed by optimism unsubstantiated by any of my personal dietary history, I am stuck in a cycle of buying way too much produce, neglecting it, and inevitably communing with my roommate to mourn and dispose of it.
None of us are immune! One leisurely trip too many to Trader Joe’s could leave any innocent grocery shopper telling people that spaghetti squash is “literally just as good.” I inhale the pseudo-artisanal ambience, collect my microwave pad thai, graciously accept a cashier’s compliments on my outfit and suddenly I forget that I don’t actually eat salad, like, ever outside of the endless soup-and-breadstick combo scenario at Olive Garden. The grip of the mind wipe is unrelenting, and within hours some poor Instacart driver is hauling brown paper bags full of too much fucking produce up the stairs to my apartment. What follows is inevitable–I spend the next week collecting delivery food bags like an elementary school teacher with some boxtops (what’d they ever do with those?) and the spoils of my and my roommate’s last grocery purchase, well, spoil.
“Oh my god, we’re terrible. No, like we’re so bad,” my roommate says, loading limp zucchini into last night’s extra large Ch*ck F*l * to-go bag. “ I don’t know how this keeps happening, but I’m kind of growing into our biweekly ritual, you know? Like, yeah, it might be both financially and environmentally inefficient, and yes, we might be slowly depleting our tupperware supply every time something either gets too moldy to wash or the contents appear too intimidating for us to even crack it open. But it’s also kind of cleansing. It’s like going to confession at church, except the sins are shriveled grapes and the priest is our trash can. Still has the same effect.”
Should I retire the fantasy that I might someday experience regular desire for things that are leafy or green? Would this be easier if I stopped ordering delivery? Does Ch*ck F*l * have a surprisingly generous rewards program? Who’s to say, other than the asparagus in our bottom drawer? May it rest in peace, all of it.