shewholaughs

Except for one joyous pawful of fat black cherries, eaten on the sunny stoop of the Berkeley Bowl, we dined out every day in the Bay Area. This meant Thai curries, pizzas, breakfast pastries, submarine sandwiches, and far too many Chipotle burritos. It also meant packaging, packaging, packaging, waste of the most incredible variety. I felt slightly sick all the time—not from the food itself, but from overflowing trash bins, plastic sleeves slipped over sandwiches we said we’d eat on-site, thin wafers of plastic slapped on oversized fountain drinks, and for the messages that packaging bore: praise for the consumer’s wisely exercised discretion that led her to this place, this product; self-praise for the company for utilizing 15% post-consumer content in its paper cups or embracing “all natural ingredients.” I wanted to pack lunches for the airport and shop at organic groceries, even and especially if that meant piecing together meals on the sidewalk outside.