Let’s be honest—food delivery used to be an occasional indulgence, reserved for hangovers, heartbreak, or laziness with a dash of shame. But somewhere between the third wave of COVID and the sudden realization that I hate grocery shopping more than I hate most Republicans, takeout became a full-fledged lifestyle.
Now we’ve got a buffet of apps—DoorDash, Uber Eats, Grubhub, Postmates, the ghost of whatever Seamless was—ready to bring us pad thai at 11 p.m. or boba in a snowstorm. It’s the golden age of food delivery, and I, for one, am leaning in like I’m auditioning to be their brand ambassador (or possibly just someone who orders enough to qualify for a brand deal).
But as any seasoned delivery diva knows, not all takeout is created equal—and neither are the apps that bring it to your door.
So, allow me to break down the art of ordering, the hazards of half-hearted fries, and the sacred rules of at-home indulgence that keep this system running smoother than a Chick-fil-A drive-thru (minus the homophobia).
App Warfare: Know Your Weapon of Choice
Each food delivery app has its quirks. DoorDash is the people-pleaser, Uber Eats has an identity crisis, Grubhub feels like your awkward cousin who tries hard, and Postmates is basically the Tinder of delivery—hot, unreliable, and may or may not ghost you mid-order.
The trick? Know which app your favorite local spots use directly. Sometimes ordering through the restaurant’s own site saves you fees, and supports small businesses more directly. Otherwise, it’s a choose-your-chaos situation. I bounce between them like I’m in an open relationship with food services.
The “Don’t Order That” List
Repeat after me: not everything travels well. I don’t care how badly you’re craving it, some foods just weren’t meant to survive a 17-minute journey in someone’s trunk.
Here are the usual suspects:
- French fries: Soggy sadness in a bag. If you must, reheat them in the air fryer like an adult.
- Ice cream: Just go buy a pint. It won’t arrive as a soup puddle.
- Anything crispy: Tempura? Calamari? Egg rolls? RIP to that crunch.
- Avocado toast: Ma’am, please. This is not what millennials died on hills for.
Instead, aim for dishes that like being smothered and steamy:
- Curries
- Pasta
- Tacos (soft shell)
- Burgers (just expect construction upon arrival)
- Anything from a place that knows it’s doing takeout right
Optimize Like a Pro
Some tips from a seasoned couch-gourmand:
- Use the “Instructions” box: Be that person. Ask for extra sauce. Request plastic utensils if you’re too lazy to wash your own. Tell them not to add cilantro if you’re one of those people who thinks it tastes like soap.
- Preheat your oven: 350°F, baby. As soon as you hit “order.” That way, if your food arrives lukewarm (read: always), you’ve got a fix.
- Don’t forget to tip: Seriously. These folks are hauling burritos and risking life and limb because you didn’t want to cook. Be decent. 20% minimum. Or more if it’s storming, late, or they had to drive across state lines because your town hates restaurants.
Create the Vibe
If you’re going to blow $30 on pad see ew and dumplings, make it an event. Light a candle. Put on sweatpants that feel like you made an effort. Queue up a rerun of your comfort show (for me and Matthew, that’s Pose, Bridgerton, or The Bear, depending on our mental health tier of the day).
Food tastes better when it feels intentional—even if it came from a stranger’s backseat.
Final Bite: It’s More Than Convenience
For me, food delivery isn’t just about avoiding the stove. It’s a lifeline on hard days. A ritual. A reward. A way to reclaim a sliver of joy when the world feels like it’s on fire and you’re too emotionally exhausted to butter toast.
In a time where we’ve normalized everything from trauma to tipping fatigue, sometimes the little indulgence of delivery feels like a declaration: I am tired. I am worthy. And I want dumplings brought to me like a medieval lord.
So order that meal. Reheat those fries. Scroll those apps like your thumbs are your only form of exercise. Just maybe skip the avocado toast.
You deserve joy. Even if it’s soggy.
Even if it costs $38 with tax and fees.
Even if you’re eating it in yesterday’s clothes while watching Schitt’s Creek for the 400th time.
I’m not judging. I’m probably doing the exact same thing.