It was last Thursday; it was my night to cook but I had worked late and I was in no mood to make dinner.
“I’m just going to pick up a rotisserie chicken at Publix,” I said without enthusiasm: It would be our third rotisserie chicken of the week which, by anyone’s assessment, is about three rotisserie chickens too many, but we’ve convinced ourselves that they are somewhat healthy — healthier than KFC at least — and they are undeniably cheap, convenient and filling. The only problem is that they are tasteless and mushy, but our big dog Ali loves them — she can smell a rotisserie chicken in the garage and is doing backflips by the time I walk in the door.
“Great,” said my partner without inflection. “Rotisserie chicken.”
“Is that ok?” I said. “Either that or I can heat some leftovers in the microwave.” I’ve given up trying to fathom how two guys who rarely cook always have a steady supply of leftovers in the freezer.
“Rotisserie chicken is awesome!” he said with unwarranted enthusiasm, but this was part of the game: no matter how vile the dinners either of us serves are, the other will not complain; to do so invites the challenge: “Why don’t you do the cooking?”
Now, as I was about to head to Publix he said, “You know there are services that deliver fresh, healthy meals to your door?” I didn’t. He produced a brochure. “This was under the office door when I came in today,” he said.
It was a beautiful, full-color brochure showing lovely meals that were all fresh, healthy and colorful. They offered meal plans for athletes and vegetarians and cavemen and diabetics and kosher Jews and you could choose from among a bewildering array of entrees, all customized to your taste. The brochure included all the pertinent information except prices.
“That’s probably not a good sign,” I said.
“There’s just us two,” said my partner, “how much could it cost?”
I was still reading. “It says each entrée is 500 calories or less.”
My partner looked concerned. “Five hundred calories means the portions are small,” he said. “That means we probably wouldn’t have any leftovers for Ali.” Ali would not be pleased to be excluded at dinnertime.
I nodded grimly. “Remember when we went through our Lean Cuisine phase?” Several years ago we went through a similar crisis and decided that Lean Cuisine frozen entrees were tasty, convenient, healthy and inexpensive. The only problem was that we each had to eat three of them — so that our total meals were now neither low calorie nor cheap.
“I’ll check out their website,” I said; “what have we got to lose?”
I went to the food delivery’s website and was impressed by the gorgeous pictures of healthy food and the healthy pictures of gorgeous models eating the healthy food but, trying to maintain my focus, I went right to the pricing.
There were a variety of meal plans and the prices were surprisingly affordable. I did a quick calculation. “This is cheaper than buying food at Publix and cooking it,” I said.
I was ready to grab my credit card and place an order but my partner was suspicious. “That’s not possible,” he said, looking at the website over my shoulder. “There’s got to be a catch.”
He clicked twice and went to a different part of the website. “Those prices are an average,” he informed me. “For breakfast.” My jaw dropped.
“The base pricing is for three meals a day, five days per week,” he continued. “And then they also charge for delivery two or three times per week. They deliver in the middle of the night,” he added parenthetically; “your food is on your doorstep when you get up in the morning.”
“Well the raccoons will be happy,” I said; we share our yard with a family of fearless raccoons that are able to open locked garbage cans to get to the food inside. A bag of cooked food on the front porch would be like manna from raccoon heaven. But then another thought hit me.
“If they deliver it in the middle of the night then we’d have to reheat it for dinner?” I said.
My partner nodded. “Microwave food,” he said. “Isn’t that what we call ‘leftovers’?”
“That’s what we’re trying to avoid,” I said. I was getting impatient. “ But still — if the price is right it might be worth it,” I said.
My partner was calculating. “It looks like the base price is about $150 per week.” I stared at him with my eyes wide. “That’s per person,” he said helpfully, looking at me over the top of his glasses. “But it is for three meals a day,” he added as he logged off the computer.
I grabbed my car keys. “Do you want lemon rotisserie chicken or plain?” I said.