Let takeout menus be your soul’s balm as 2020 comes to a close
By: Giselle Wedemire
Tags: Self Care, 2020, Takeout, Pandemic, Personal Essay

I like reading menus. Online, in person, plastered on the street-facing window of a dive café — it doesn’t matter, I love it all. I adore the descriptions of items offered at a given establishment, and I derive a perverse pleasure in picking out obvious typos that would normally aggravate my grammar-fanatic, copy-editing self in the real world. And I especially love the will-they-won’t-they tension of struggling to settle on a menu item when a waitress stands over me impatiently — though that feeling is rare as I am wont to look up a restaurant’s menu and handpick my desired meal days before visiting said spot.

You see, when it comes to reading menus, the world becomes mere background noise — a sort of spa for the mind that’s created in the world of fonts and foods. And, frankly, with the way this year has been going, I would say that almost everyone needs some sort of mental spa day to unwind and forget the outside world for a bit.

October 2020 hit my partner and I squarely in the face with swift and precise punches, jabs, and right hooks. First, one of our two beloved cats developed a urinary blockage that, over the course of 24 hours, had spread to his kidneys and had stopped his ability to urinate entirely. Sobbing through our masks at the emergency vet clinic by our house, we held him in our arms as the vet eased his pain and put him to sleep. Returning home to just one furry face with an unbearably light, empty kennel in tow, sorrow ripped through us as we stood by our apartment’s coat closet and cried into each other’s shoulders. That night, we were emotionally shattered but hopeful that the worst was behind us.

However, more bad luck piled up on us and those in our close circle.

Later that week, my sister’s car was broken into; my largest freelance client went under, buckling under the budget cuts caused by the pandemic; and my father’s feet worryingly swelled up to three times their size due to some unknown cause that was later revealed to be gout. Then we got the call. My mother-in-law’s battle with lymphoma had taken a turn for the worse and, after putting up a strong fight and a brave face for two years, she had gone on to glory. Her ability to make light conversation with anyone she met was unmatched, and her generous spirit allowed her to always crack jokes about any and everything — even when things seemed the darkest for her.

But cancer doesn’t care about her unbreakable spirit, just like it doesn’t care about the amazing qualities of the millions of patients it affects every year, nor can it ever care about the pain and suffering it leaves behind when a loved one succumbs. It’s a disease, so obviously it can’t know the wrecking ball-like path of destruction it paves on the lives of cancer patients and those in their inner circle. Unfortunately, we’ve all come to know that pain all too well.

Overwhelmed by the curveballs that life had thrown right into my face over the course of a week and a half, I sat dazed and numbed in front of my computer and devoured the online menu for a new vegan restaurant that my sister had volunteered to get me dinner from in an effort to lift my spirits and distract me from my tears for a few hours. And the strangest thing happened while I took in the succinct descriptions of ramen bowls, Vietnamese subs, and dairy-free Thai iced teas: though the font began to blur and swim in my field of vision as tears flooded my eyes, a sense of inexplicable calm began to settle in my soul as though a loving grown-up had placed a weighted blanket around my shoulders.

True, the world had stopped making sense months ago when toilet paper shortages first popped up as a real event and not a headline on an Onion article, and my life began to make less and less sense as the month of October marched on for me and my partner. But I still had to eat, and what I put in my body — and where I opted to buy that sustenance from — were still meaningful choices that I had to make every day, and that small amount of control that I still wielded made me feel hope. All I had to do was make a decision and choose something to order from this menu.

The world — and 2020, in particular — changes constantly and so rapidly, causing us to careen helplessly down emotional roller-coasters every day. Some days, you start out feeling way up, as though you’re on top of the world, only to be defeated by news of yet another instance of police brutality whose emotional and practical effects cross borders and oceans. Other days, you wake up knowing that you already feel off. Your eyes open and you can already tell that your spirit is heavy after having been weighed down over the last 12 months by constant news headlines that create a low but constant hum of anxiety. You feel you can’t take any more bad news, yet bad news still manages to find you, and you feel your heart expand a bit to accommodate the new sorrow you feel.

And, miraculously, some days you start out feeling completely neutral, like you’re finally back on solid ground during this insane year, despite feeling potentially numbed by the news of rising cases of Covid-19 contracted during the pandemic’s second wave. On this roller-coaster, you’re bound to do an emotional loop-di-loop or two, going up by watching a few heart-mending videos of otters holding hands or cats being jerks to their owners before coming down hard with the news of a loved one’s passing or the realization that this holiday season is going to be one spent apart from your family.

Given the year we have all had, it’s easy to feel like you’ve lost control of your life. During tough times some may try to re-establish a sense of control over things by establishing a new workout routine, delving into a new hobby, or indulging in some good, old-fashioned day drinking. But for a quick and easy fix when things seem too overwhelming this season, consider the humble restaurant menu.

I’m sure you have a few copies of your local Chinese takeout place’s menu tucked away in your junk drawer — or, if not, open up your Skip the Dishes or GrubHub app. Hell, type into Google the name of your favourite restaurants and click on their online menu. Now, let the descriptions of the sweet and sour pork comfort you like a blanket of so much fluorescent orange sauce. Bask in the judgment-free zone that is your favourite pizza joint’s description of their Mediterranean pie — all of those toppings for the taking, and not one of them is anxiety. Look at your local Caribbean spot’s menu and take in the write-ups about the oxtail, the curry goat, the patties. So much flavour, so much possibility and so much tranquility — and not one mention of world politics or climate change.

Let the mundane worry of not knowing what to order replace your fear of what 2021 may have in store for you. Slow your breathing and calm yourself as you take in the details of all of the sodium-rich delights that await you, and block out for a little bit all of the other worries that have been taking up your time and energy. You’ve got to eat, after all, and in this arena, you’ve got all the control.

Those other worries will still be there afterwards, but for now, just focus on the zen world where the fonts and the foods meet on paper (or on screen), and let your mind drift for a bit. You and your belly will thank me later.