A weekend in Sacramento eating only from food-delivery apps

It’s just past noon on a stormy Saturday and I’m starving—nearing hangry status, actually. I could cook, but nothing in the fridge sounds good. I could leave the house, but I’m still in yoga pants and a hoodie. Also: hello, stormy Saturday.

There’s another reason to stay put, too: With the recent deluge of food delivery services, I’ve challenged myself to a weekend at home, surviving like a pioneer who, instead of hunting the plains for dinner, must instead forage the Internet for provisions.

Initially, it seemed fun—a weekend spent holed up at home, cozy and well-fed by a steady procession of delivery drivers.

Being a shut-in, however, isn’t as easy—or fun—as it might seem. It’s anxiety-inducing, actually.

This is what I’m realizing as I flip through various apps, scouring lunch options. GrubHub will bring Jimboy’s, which sort of sounds awesome but ordering fast food makes me feel as though I’ve given up on life.

FoodJets, which works with local restaurants to build its daily menu, isn’t offering any vegetarian entrees on this particular day, so unless I want a lunch that consists solely of pita chips and hummus, I need to move on.

My husband suggests pizza. Postmates has a “free slice and soda” promo but the app doesn’t say where it’s from.

“I have a feeling it’s just going to be some guy picking up the stuff that they sell outside at Costco,” he says.

Pass.

Luckily, there are other options, so we decide to order a few slices from Uncle Vito’s. Easy enough, right?

Eh, not so much.

“Why is this order almost $45?” I yell after the app spits out a total. That’s a lot for two pesto slices and one cheese. My husband glances over at the screen and patiently points out my mistake. I’ve selected “whole pie” instead of slice for two of the options.

Oh.

Order amended, it’s still pricey, thanks to a $1.17 service fee (9 percent of the total order) and the $9.75 delivery fee that’s been discounted, for no particular reason, down to $7.73.

Then there’s the business of the tip: The app suggests 20 percent but I change it to 10 percent and then spend the next half hour fretting about how miserly I am even as I pay nearly $25 for three slices of pizza.

See? Anxiety-inducing.

It’s raining hard by the time the delivery guy shows up toting three small boxes, a mountain of red pepper packets—and napkins from Chipotle? The pizza is lukewarm, which makes me feel better about the cheapskate tip.

My brain cells fed once again, I’m antsy despite the rain. I usually run errands on Saturdays, and sitting around at home, still in the yoga pants and hoodie, I’m starting to feel disgusted with myself. A shower, a change of clothes and the increasingly loud bluster of the wind, however, settles my mind and I realize I’m hungry again.

By this point GrubHub, Postmates and Caviar are in full delivery mode and there are tons of choices, to the point that it’s overwhelming. I wonder if it would help to take a Xanax.

For a hot second, I think about checking out the smaller, well-curated Edible Pedal options but then remember that would require me to call the restaurant and place the order myself. That seems to defeat the purpose, so, after a lengthy discussion, we settle on Orchid Thai, once again via Postmates. Despite the ever-worsening storm, our order—curry, sauteed vegetables with tofu, an order of caramelized tofu skewers and enough brown rice to feed an army—arrives so quickly that my guilt kicks in full-force and I up the tip from 10 percent to 25 percent.

Being a shut-in with deeply rooted guilt issues just might break my bank account.

Come Sunday, it’s grocery time. I’d try Google Express, which offers deliveries from the likes of Whole Foods, Target and Costco, but the soonest I can get an order is the next day. I move on to PrimeNow, Amazon’s two-hour service and as I browse through page after page of options, the stress creeps up again.

I’m the type of person who’s had to circle back to a store three times to check off the items for a recipe—that’s not going to work with PrimeNow’s $20 order minimum. I need to think about this very carefully.

“Do we need almond milk? What about cat litter? How about Kashi GoLean? A new iPhone cable?”

“Don’t get sucked in to buying everything just because they have it,” my husband says.

I settle on almond milk, cereal, cat litter and a phone cable as well as fresh blueberries, tomatoes and avocados and select a late-afternoon delivery window. As soon I hit “place order,” however, the familiar sense of dread settles in. I know I forgot something. Can I cancel and reorder? It’s raining really hard, I hope the driver will be OK.

By the time we order dinner for the night—pizza (again!) from Federalist Public House via Caviar—I’m kind of a mess. The delivery is perfect—our Fromaggio and Margherita pies are brought to the door quickly despite the ever-raging wind and rain—but I forget to tip because I mistakenly think the gratuity is tacked on to the order as with the other services.

I’m going to need that Xanax after all. Now I just need to find someone who’ll deliver it.