Why I prefer to “eat in” over “home delivery”

ByJames O'Brien

Sitting down at the local Mexican restaurant tonight for a couple of tacos (and a glass of sangria!) served as a timely reminder of why I prefer dining in over the default of home delivery. While food delivery apps certainly have their place—such as during the lockdowns or when I was recovering from surgery and unable to leave the house—they ultimately insert an unnecessary and sterile barrier between us and the people who actually prepare our meals.

Living in a vibrant part of Sydney for the past 30 years, I am fortunate to have countless eateries right on my doorstep. In fact, my nearest restaurant is barely a hundred metres away. It would be entirely absurd to order home delivery when the kitchen is practically a stone’s throw from my front door. Yet, looking around the dining room, the vast majority of foot traffic through the door wasn’t diners at all, but a constant rotation of pickup food delivery drivers.

Tonight’s experience captured everything that convenience culture strips away: the ambient chatter of different languages filling the room, the warmth of neighbours sharing a physical space, and those spontaneous human interactions that make local life so rich. The restaurant was filled with a wonderful mix of people, including a Mexican couple who clearly knew the owner well, chatting easily in the background.

When the woman running the restaurant said gracias, I quickly looked up the proper response on my phone. Seeing the genuine delight and excitement on her face when I replied ¡De nada! correctly—and her warmly telling me I could come back anytime to practise my Spanish—turned out to be the highlight of my evening. You simply cannot experience that kind of charming, unexpected human connection when a courier drops a heavily packaged bag at your apartment door.

The modern delivery model creates an unfortunate disconnect. Culinary traditions and recipes that have been honed and refined over a lifetime by people from rich cultural backgrounds are boxed up in heaps of single-use plastic, handed to an intermediary, and consumed in isolation while staring at a screen. It feels both environmentally wasteful and socially isolating.

Mexican Burrito Cantina, Crown Sreet, Surry Hills

We live in a hyper-connected age, yet we are increasingly alienated from the most fundamental community rituals. When wonderful local venues are just metres away, we risk losing the magic of sharing physical space, conversation, and appreciation with the artisans who feed us. I sincerely hope we hold onto the tradition of stepping out, taking a seat, and dining in.

Similar Posts

Scando Christmas in Newtown

Developments in Newtown

As we walked through Newtown/Enmore this afternoon/evening, a few things caught my eye. First, the little Scandinavian Christmas display in the window of the Gourmet Viking, the Scandinavian restaurant on Enmore Road. The restaurant wasn’t open, so I don’t know if they have any special plans, aside from advertising glögg in the window for $6.50 per glass.

And the second thing I noticed was the work going on at the Newtown Hotel. For many years, the Newtown was a favourite pub of mine to attend. And then suddenly three years ago it closed with little warning to patrons. I still remember it quite well – and of course I blogged it – as my friend Graeme and I had planned to have a drink there on a warm, pleasant Sunday afternoon, only to arrive and discover it had closed, and that someone had actually erected a tombstone outside in memory of good times.

Newtown Hotel Tombstone
Newtown Hotel Tombstone

Since then, the “gay pub map” of Newtown has remained fairly bleak. Of course “The Imperial” re-opened again a few months ago, and today when I saw work going on inside with builders, and staff doing all sorts of things, I rang him instantly.

The big question – will it re-open as “gay”?

“Probably not/possibly not” sounds like the conclusion, though you can never say until it actually happens. Graeme googled the pub and came up with the following article from the Sydney Star Observer

The Star Observer has since learned from the Office of Liquor, Gaming & Racing that the licence for the hotel was transferred from McHugh to Newtown Colonial Hotel Pty Ltd in November last year under the name Helen Kritikos. Attempts to reach Ms Kritikos through her lawyers were made four times this week and written questions — asking if the hotel would reopen as a gay venue, or if not, whether the hotel would welcome gay customers or be open to gay events being held at the venue — were sent. Calls were not returned and a reply was not forthcoming.

That’s a shame I thought to myself and commented to a colleague I was with. He’s a straight bloke who’s gay-friendly, and who’s been to The Newtown and The Imperial, and knows a lot of the history. We then got into a discussion about the pros and cons of gay only, straight only and mixed pubs. In a city I think there’s room for all three types of pubs. And with only a few gay bars operating on Oxford Street, and with only The Imperial operating in Newtown/Erskineville, I hope there’s room for a re-opened bar in the style of much-loved, much-missed Newtown Hotel.

Scando Christmas in Newtown
Scando Christmas in Newtown
Lately

Lately

Though I couldn’t imagine doing it myself, I found inspiration in the life story of “Morgana Muses”, as featured in the documentary, “Morgana”.

There was only a handful of people at Dendy Newtown for the Saturday morning screening this weekend.

I quite like early Saturday screenings. They remind me of going to “the pictures” as a child, and there’s never more than a few people around for those early screenings.

Nonetheless, as a 55-year old single man, seeing a movie about a middle-aged Australian woman who launches a career in pornography, I was slightly worried what other people in the cinema might think of me. Ridiculous I know. It was at Dendy Newtown, a cinema and suburb known for its hipness. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious.

According to her website biography…

As a first generation Australian female born to European parents, my upbringing focused strongly on how a ‘good woman’ should behave in private and in public. Becoming a wife and mother was considered to be the ultimate achievement for a woman. Sex and all related pleasures were never discussed. It was expected that those ‘matters’ would be taught in the confines of a marriage. Things did not work out that way for me. In 2012 at the age of 47,  2 years after leaving my sexless marriage, I decided to embark on my journey of sexual exploration and learning.

Aside from the fact she embarked on a career making art-house porn, there’s a lot to relate to in her story. And as she had spent much of her life living in Albury around the same time I was living in Wagga, I thought that was doubly so.

And then there was something about her physicality and her attitude that reminded me of so many women I’ve met in my life. I’ve always been attracted to women who naturally display the authenticity displayed by Morgana in the documentary.

There are also moments of vulnerability, as she talks about her experiences with suicidal thoughts.

Most films these days are about 20 minutes too long, but at 70 minutes in duration, I was left wanting more, not less.

Highly recommended.

Aside from going to the movies, the last fortnight or so has been reasonably social with a number of catch-ups over dinner, including a visit to one of my new “favourite places”, Bar Vincent.

“It’s really hard to get rabbit in NSW, most of it comes from Victoria”, we were told by the waiter there. My friend and I have been there a few times, and we really respect her opinions. And so when we asked about the rabbit, and she endorsed it, we knew we were onto the right thing. It was super-tasty.

The yummiest pasta dish with rabbit at Bar Vincent, Sydney
The yummiest pasta dish with rabbit at Bar Vincent, Sydney
Sharing a steak at Bar Vincent, Darlinghurst.

So my recommendations this week : a documentary about porn and an excellent restaurant. That’s enough, surely?

Heading South

Cronulla Club
Cronulla Club

Damo and I had a beer today at the Cronulla Club, the second time I’ve been there.

It’s a nice enough club, with a really fine outlook over the bowling green.

I’d been in Wollongong for the day for work. And rather than come all the way back into the city before heading back down, I jumped out of the car and met Damo at the club for a late afternoon bevvy.

We chatted mostly about travel, as he’s about to embark on his mega-tour of South East Asia, and I’m contemplating my own travel plans for early next year.

We also had a bite to eat at a nearby tapas placed called Stonefish, I think? You can eat well for very little money, let me assure you. You won’t go starving.

On arriving back in Sydney, I got home as quickly as I could and put on the heater.

First Aid Kit plays Oxford Art Factory, Sydney

Needed First Aid

1 Comment

I had one of those moments tonight where I had goosebumps at a live performance. I was watching the Swedish band, First Aid Kit, play their first-ever gig in Sydney.

They’re two young women who play indie/folk/blah blah blah kind of music. They did a modern-day cover version of the song, “Universal Soldier” by Donovan as their encore. And rather than stay on the stage, they came into the audience.

“Could you please make a circle for us?”, one of them asked. And the obliging crowd did so almost immediately. Looking at the audience near the front, there were quite a few obvious Swedes watching the show. Lots of blonde hair. Perhaps this wasn’t so unusual for the Swedes, but for the Australians watching it was very unexpected, as First Aid Kit came right down into the audience for their encore. The song was modernised with references to Iraq and the Middle East, and I was truly moved.

I would review more of the show, except I hadn’t seen all that much. It was a day of travel from Hobart to Sydney. At the end of about three days of almost constant chatter, I went for a walk around the water in Hobart at lunchtime today. Although in the background there was a slight traffic rumble, the only sound which stood out was the sound of seagulls.

I’ve been in Hobart for an ABC conference, which I helped organise. The forums and awards part was twenty-four hours of constant chatter. Talking to friends and colleagues about matters both important and trivial from lunchtime yesterday through to lunchtime today, including a reasonably late night last night.

I hasten to add the chatter was always stimulating, and I was never once bored. But there’s something about talking and listening so much which can also be so incredibly exhausting.

Mid-afternoon with a couple of hours to kill until our plane back to Sydney, I found a comfortable lounge in a quiet spot in a quiet room away from everyone else and had a 20-minute nap. Or perhaps “meditation” is a better word to describe that brief moment where you close your eyes, close your mind off to the world, and try to get a little bit of equilibrium back. As we waited at the airport, I chatted with some of my former colleagues from Western Australia: three women who I genuinely like as people as well as colleagues.

Upon arriving home, I had a brief couple of hours at home on the couch before heading off to the Oxford Art Factory. As I arrived at Oxford Street I was amazed by the length of the queue waiting to get into the Oxford Art Factory, as it spread right up to the nearby traffic lights. I was further amazed by the conversations of those in front and behind me. Mostly “emos”, they spent a lot of time talking about their sex lives, and the “bitches” they had slept with. It was a little too much for a bloke like myself. Closer to the front of the queue, I began to wonder if I’d joined the right queue. As I arrived at the door and secured a wristband to what was apparently an “emo” club I realised I’d joined the wrong queue. “Shit”, I thought to myself. The giveaway for me was when the security bloke swiped me for drugs – ala the airport – assuming the only reason I’d be in this queue was to sell drugs to the emos!!

First Aid Kit plays Oxford Art Factory, Sydney
First Aid Kit plays Oxford Art Factory, Sydney

Thankfully, I made my way into the Oxford Art Factory and caught the last few tunes by First Aid Kit. Finally, the Swedes out-numbered the emos, and for that, I was truly grateful. And I was pleased to see a fabulous band play a few songs. I’m left wanting more.

Next up in Swedish pop… Robyn. Yay.

Bottle Brush

I’ve always been fond of the bottle-brush (aka Callistemon).

We had one in our front yard of the house in which I grew up in South Lismore. I remember when dad planted it, it seemed like a fragile little thing. The last time I drove past the house, I noticed it was still there, almost as tall as the two story house itself. I think dad would be happy to know it has survived for thirty to forty years.

Until earlier this morning, I’d never really noticed the bottle brush in my street in Surry, Hills, Sydney. But as I made my way down the street to get a haircut, I was literally stopped in my tracks by the beauty of this one. The colours are vibrant, even if you can’t necessarily see them in my photograph taken on my phone.

Christmas Parties

Christmas Parties

2 Comments

The first was a lunchtime celebration for just our part of the organisation at the AB Hotel in Glebe which was excellent. The food was very good. The service friendly. And despite the rain, many of us spent the afternoon in the comfortable outdoors courtyard. The second was the annual bash at Ultimo.

“You’re a real trooper on the dance floor”, one of the DJ’s said to me at one point during the night. He had obviously noted a couple of us spent most of the night on the dance floor. Well, aimed to spend most of the night on the dance floor, since some of the earlier music wasn’t all that danceable for a 43 year old man with an interest in Swedish pop music. “It’s 9.30”, I said to my colleague when the first really good song of the night kicked in. And from then on, it was two hours of solid dancing. Great fun.

The theme for this year’s party was “hats or wigs”. We went through the cupboards at work and found some old baseball caps and came as a group. Unfortunately, we didn’t win the prize for best costume. Next year, there’s hopefully a prize for “best group costume”.

And in between time I actually did some work too!

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.