As a kid, ordering food from outside was the single most eventful thing that would happen to me monthly. In the mid-2000s, ordering food from a restaurant was a big deal for parents who had never done that before. With no apps, no touchscreen phone, or even instant internet for that matter, all we had were menu cards or mobile numbers from the restaurants that we liked. I would pester my parents and ask them to order my favourite dishes almost weekly. At first, they complied, but later, when it became quite clear that to me it was a thrill more than a necessity, they found a way to subdue me.
One day, they handed me the phone to order by myself.
Already shy and unaccustomed to speaking to strangers, I hesitated and backed out a few times. But impatience got the better of me. I finally dialled the number, stumbled through the words, and ordered a pizza. My palms were sweaty, my voice shaky, but I did it. That small act of courage marked the beginning of my love for ordering food.
When food delivery apps eventually launched, my parents were sceptical. There were rumours of scams and of paid food that never arrived. I, however, was the designated navigator of confusing interfaces and glitchy apps. Back then, ordering food felt special, a little luxury, a celebration of comfort and convenience. It was a reminder of the fact that you were living above your means and maybe even splurging a little. People secretly prayed the delivery guy would be late, just enough to get that '30-minutes-or-free' bonus. Those were simpler, sweeter times.
The Hostel Hunger Games
On my very first day of living away from home and at a hostel, I planned to discover the joy that is the movie Dil Chahta Hai by ordering a pizza and a cold soft drink for myself. It was the celebration I had for myself on starting the new chapter of my life. When I went to college, and was introduced to the concept of hostel food. It was a gamble; some days brought biryani, raita, and gulab jamun, while others ended with stale rotis and achaar. If you made it to breakfast on time, you might get a fluffy aloo paratha with butter. Arrive five minutes late, and you’d be left in a line longer than the one outside a hyped dosa place in Bandra, only to get burnt parathas.
Later, when I started making some money of my own through a part-time job, food was the first expense I pampered myself with. After a big assignment, I would order the foot-long sandwich from Subway along with a cold can of soda and watch Julia Roberts fall in love with a rich man in Pretty Woman on my bed after college. Those were the glory days of ordering food.
The Fade Of The Excitement
Fast forward three years, and the magic has worn off. Ordering food now feels unfulfilling, tedious, and far too expensive. What once felt like a treat now feels like a burden. Living alone, the act has lost its sense of occasion; it’s no longer about indulgence but about filling a void. When you are bone tired from the trials and tribulations of the day, ordering food feels like the last thing that you would want to do.
The menus are endless, prices inflated, and delivery times uncertain. The very thing that once symbolised convenience now feels like another chore. Somewhere between the rising service fees and the endless scrolling, the excitement of ringing that phone, the one that once connected me to joy, has quietly faded.
Why Ordering Food Feels So Annoying Now
Ordering food has lost its charm for many of us living away from home. It begins with decision fatigue, hundreds of options on the screen that make choosing a meal more exhausting than exciting. You scroll endlessly, second-guessing every craving until hunger gives way to boredom. Then come the delivery delays and mounting fees, packaging, convenience, platform, surge charges, and even rain charges that drain your wallet before the food even arrives, and if it’s late, the frustration multiplies.
The quality inconsistency only adds to the disappointment; what you see on the app rarely matches what lands at your door. The flavours are off, the food’s cold, and the comfort you were craving never quite arrives. There’s also the emotional disconnect. For people living away from home, what once felt like a shared family indulgence or a weekend ritual is now a lonely, mechanical act done on autopilot, filling the stomach but never the heart. And finally, there’s the loss of anticipation; food delivery used to carry a sense of celebration, a story behind every order. Today, it’s just another transaction, stripped of the excitement and warmth that once made it special.
Perhaps growing up has as much to do with losing the magic of ordering food as the apps themselves. The act that once felt like a doorway to freedom now feels transactional, almost joyless. But maybe that’s the point, that joy, like flavour, changes with time. It’s no longer in the act of clicking ‘Order Now,’ but in cooking something simple, sharing a meal with someone, or calling home to say what you had for dinner. So now, instead of ordering a serving of Aglio E Olio from an Italian restaurant, I simply order all the ingredients for it. I make it from scratch while rewatching my favourite shows and then enjoy my food. Because sometimes, the comfort we crave isn’t in the food that arrives at our doorstep, it’s in the feeling of being home, with the noise and clutter of pots and pans, the aroma of spices and herbs, and maybe if you're lucky, surrounded by your loved ones.