When I was still working at my day job, I didn't have time to do a lot of home cooking. Most often, dinners consisted of takeout, Earthfare or Whole Foods deli, or delivery. Now that I'm working from home again, I have time to cook for myself. It's definitely healthier and (surprisingly) I'm better at it than I thought I would be. Even though I had to call a friend and ask how to cook fresh broccoli. I have Food Network on in the background on my office television for most of the day and have made a lot of the recipes (found a good one for broccoli with garlic and olive oil from Rachael Ray). I baked a chicken (OK, I did forget to take out the bag of ick stuffed inside until it was halfway done, but the chicken was still good). I made homemade pizza with wheat crust. I located my wok, which hasn't been used in about five years, and made stir fry. I've discovered that I actually like the chopping of the vegetables, the prepping of the food, and even shopping for the recipes.
It never occurred to me that my newfound experimentation with cooking would have an impact on others. And I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I've probably ordered takeout from the same Chinese Food place (very healthy, no MSG, and they have brown rice) two or three times a week for the past five years. Yesterday, I discovered a menu from said restaurant under my door with the following hand-scrawled note:
"Just stopped by to see how you were. We haven't heard from you in a while and we miss you. Signed, Joe."
Joe was my regular delivery guy. We knew each other by name. In fact, when my friend Aleigh was visiting after I had surgery in January and we ordered Chinese food, she answered the door and Joe was very surprised to see her face instead of mine.
I might have to give them a ring one night this week and skip the home cooking, just because I miss Joe too. And I have yet been able to recreate their sesame buckwheat soba noodles on my own.