Confessions of a Takeout Addict

Let’s be honest, we all have that one friend whose kitchen is less a place of culinary creation and more a monument to a thriving takeout economy. I am that friend.

My kitchen, a sleek, modern space with a gas range that I’ve used maybe three times, is where bags of Thai food, pizza boxes, and styrofoam containers come to die. My refrigerator is a shrine to condiments, home to an impressive collection of soy sauce packets and a jar of sriracha that I bought myself. I’ve become a connoisseur of delivery apps, a master of a specific kind of culinary laziness. And I’m ready to confess.

The Allure of the Delivery App

There’s a specific kind of dopamine hit that comes from ordering takeout. It starts with the scroll—the endless digital menu, a promise of flavors without effort. The act of pressing “place order” is a small, quiet act of self-care. The best part? The food arrives, hot and ready, as if by magic.

I tell myself I’ll cook tomorrow. I’ll use the fresh vegetables I bought with the best intentions. I’ll make that incredible pasta dish I saw online. But tomorrow comes, and the siren song of a spicy tuna roll is just too loud to ignore.

The Financial Fallout (and the Mental Math)

I know what you’re thinking. “This person must be spending a fortune.” And you’re not wrong. But as a takeout addict, I’ve developed a unique form of mental gymnastics to justify my habit.

The average cost of a takeout meal is, let’s say, $20. Cooking a meal at home? It’s probably about $10 a person. So, I’m paying a premium for convenience. But I tell myself it’s about more than just the money. It’s about saving time. It’s about not having to do the dishes. It’s about the joy of an expertly crafted pad thai that I could never replicate. The numbers don’t lie, but my justifications are a powerful form of self-deception.

A Glimmer of Hope

Is there a cure for my addiction? Maybe. Sometimes, I have a moment of clarity. I’ll pull out a pan, chop some vegetables, and feel a flicker of what it must be like to be a “real” cook. These meals are often simple, but they’re deeply satisfying. They’re a reminder that cooking for myself is a form of self-care, too.

But then I remember the ease, the variety, and the sheer joy of hearing that knock at the door, and I’m back on the app.

So, here’s my confession. I am a takeout addict. My kitchen is a beautiful, expensive lie, and my life is a delicious, well-delivered truth.

Do you have a favorite takeout spot or a secret food delivery obsession? Let me know in the comments!