When it comes to food, specifically food delivery services, I’m Captain Skeptical. I’ve tried them all. For nearly six months I subscribed to a service that shipped me a box of pre-measured ingredients and recipe cards, and fell disenchanted with the heavy wheat and dairy in the vegetarian meals. I ordered flash frozen foods and picked at tepid asparagus. Most of what arrives is a visual science experiment, and, invariably, I’d always have to hoover a bowl of cereal to supplement my “healthy” meal. Also, nothing gives me more pleasure than planting myself in the kitchen. Nothing gives me greater joy than the arcane fusion of art and alchemy when it comes to making food. Well, perhaps writing fiction, but you know what I mean. Creating something from ether, from air, is not only nourishing for yourself, it’s also the ultimate expression of your love for others. Here is this bowl of hot homemade soup in my hands, and it’s for you. Because this is how much I love you. We’re born gatherers, and our finest moments have been when we’ve spent time with our beloveds, nursing a bowl, a plate, a crumbling cookie coming apart between our fingers.
So you can imagine my reticence when I first heard of Sakara Life. My longtime yoga teacher snapped photos of the meals and sung its praises, and soon the motley lot followed suit. And you know me, if it’s popular with the cool set I tend to run blindly in the other direction.
However, last week was low. The kind of week where I would’ve been a prime cult candidate. When you ask how seemingly educated and rational people fall victim to cults, notice a pattern. People fall prey to the promise of idyll, of light, when they are in, or traveling through, their own dark country. But that’s a whole other post, a whole other book, another time, but know that I mourned the loss of gluten and dairy like you wouldn’t believe, and I found myself clicking to Sakara’s site, googling founder interviews, fawning over photos, and said:
FINE, I’LL SPEND A MILLION DOLLARS ON HOME DELIVERY.
After a week of enjoying the service, I realize where, and how well, that money was spent. You guys know I eat, and eat well (I’m humbled to have this privilege), but Sakara is the BUSINESS. Would I do this every week? No, unless I was a millionaire or didn’t care that I’m still paying off six-figure graduate loan debt (Thanks, Columbia MFA program!). However, I would splurge on this service once a year, or for a magnificent gift, because the food is seriously inventive and extraordinary.
After rattling off my laundry list of food sensitivities (did I mention I can’t have bananas for six months? Let’s add sweet potatoes, millet, turkey, and a load of other beloved foods to the list), Sakara hand-delivered food I couldn’t imagine creating. From spring pea spring gnocchi to sprouted quinoa and goji berry salad wrapped in collards, to a sunchoke griddlecake w/ garden herb salad, to a bowl of forbidden rice + tatsoi noodles draped in black sesame dressing, to a cucumber salad that still haunts my waking hours, the dishes are satisfying, rich in flavor, and you can tell you’re eating fresh, consciously-produced food. There were some moments when I shook my head and whispered, Bless your Sakara heart if you think I can subsist on that (read: roasted vegetable skewers. Come now), however, those moments were minimal, and I was sated after every meal.
In a fit of delirium (cue the cult feelings again), I ordered another batch of meals having been thankful that my nutritionist gave me a code for a 10% discount–listen, every dollar helps, people–because after enduring The Gluten Blitzkrieg and Purge of 2014, a woman needs a little splurge.
I’ll keep you posted on next week’s meals, however, if you live in the tri-state area, have a small fortune to drop on yourself, or want to splurge after surviving a full-body rash from eating CACIO E GODDAMN PEPE, I would seriously encourage you to check Sakara out. Or you can pray for a Gilt City deal.