For many years I lived in the heart of NYC, where anything you can imagine was delivered straight to my door: food, groceries, laundry, cupcakes, wine, even prescription medicine. That came in really handy when I had the flu and could order Gatorade, a bagel and some chicken soup from the deli downstairs. You become friendly with your regular delivery folk, in an awkward, overly-familiar kind of way. When the laundry comes back, you try to meet their eyes, smile and thank them at the door while hoping they weren’t the ones folding your clean underwear earlier that day.
In Manhattan, almost all restaurants deliver, and you’ll find a folder crammed full of countless menus in every NYC kitchen. When I didn’t feel like cooking, I reveled in my ability to order takeout from anywhere at anytime. I explored the world’s cuisines from the comfort of my own couch — sushi, Indian, Thai, Italian, Mexican, Hawaiian, Greek. Now that I’m back in the suburban South, my options are limited to pizza. Or pizza. Needless to say, I don’t have food delivered anymore.
That’s okay, since I discovered how to make some of my favorite Chinese food at home. I give you sweet & sour chicken with coconut rice and sesame noodles. I won’t claim either to be authentic, but they’ll do for me.
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