Nine days in to my current hospital stay, I feel well enough to waste some of my limited computer time blogging when I could be, oh, e-mailing my mother (sorry, Mom) or taking care of business (sorry, business). I don’t, however, want to burden my brain or readership by blogging about anything serious, so instead, I will focus on something happier: hospital food.
Yep. I’m fan.
As you know, if you’ve spend large tracts of time confined in hospital (normal, right?), once you’ve recovered sufficiently and get into the rhythm of things, hospital life begins to revolve around meal times. It helps, then, if the food is either good (by far the preferable situation) or really, really bad, which gives you license to relentlessly complain about it. Thankfully, in this case the scenario is the former.
Indeed, the hospital at which I currently reside has an amazing system called “Steamplicity,” which is essentially an elaborate microwave service. Given my love for microwave meals, this is an ideal set up for me.
Every morning, breakfast trays are delivered with a menu to be filled out for the rest of the day. There are eight or so hot mains from which to choose for lunch and eight from which to choose for dinner. Multigrain-breaded haddock! Beef teriyaki! Basil chicken! Dal! Sandwiches are also available, but why eat bread and ham when you could dine on salmon, wild rice, and squash? To round out your meal, you can select soup or salad (salad, obvs.) and a dessert (banana at lunch, ice cream at dinner—I’m a creature of habit).
On the one hand, it’s maybe sad that my existence has narrowed to the point that I derive so much pleasure from ticking a few boxes. On the other, my existence has widened from how narrow it was when I came to the hospital to the point that ticking a few boxes now = entertainment! There’s some positive thinking for you.
I keep wondering if I’ll get tired of eating the same things meal after meal (though the array of options is impressive, the boxes towards which my pencil inevitable gravitates never vary), but it’s been over a week, and nope. Maybe it’s because I’m still a little too out of it to care enough to try anything outside my culinary safe zone. More likely, it’s because I eat the same things meal after meal at home, too. In any case, there’s something immensely satisfying about knowing that I have the power to change my order, should I decide to exercise it.