Today, I shall mainly be talking about Sainsbury’s.
I am very happy with Sainsbury’s and honestly and truly, this is not simply because, in the hope that he’ll read this and dash round mine with a cracking job offer, I’m trying to butter Justin King, CEO up.
Having said that, Justin, the answer is yes!
No, I want to talk about the phenomenon, sweeping the single-parent world, that is ‘Feed you family for £50.’
My idea of cooking, until this last week, was piercing film.
In an attempt to pre-empt the 24/7 feeding frenzy that always characterises the summer holidays, I took myself off to the supermarket and despondently wandered among the shelves looking at lots of things called ‘raw ingredients.’
Now ‘raw ingredients’ are all well and good if you have any idea about what’s supposed to go with what, in order to create a tasty, home-cooked meal. It seemed to me that, in order to get all the random stuff I needed in my trolley at the same time, I’d have to implement some frenzied ‘hunt-the-pointless-ingredient-that-I’ve-never-heard-of-supermarket-sweep’.
Now, I ask you, do I sound like someone who has the patience to zip up and down every aisle in a bloody massive supermarket hunting for mozarella balls?
I’m a person who gets bored waiting for the petrol pump to fill up my car. My little red golf has never, ever, had more than about fifteen pounds worth of petrol in it for that very reason.
Even if I had actually managed to chivvy out the correct ingredients for some dish that I could probably have bought from the ‘ready meal’ section for a few quid extra, I’d then have to follow a recipe.
I did once try and follow a recipe, but all the ‘put-it-in,’ ‘take-it-out-again,’ ‘leave-it-to-stand-for-ten-minutes’ malarki left me pissed off at the dictatorial, smugly-superior attitude of the book.
But that’s all changed.
I go on the Sainsbury’s website.
I click on the meal planner that I want.
It takes me through to the correct, prepared shopping list where I click ‘add, add, add’ whilst watching Eastenders and drinking a cup of coffee.
Next day a chap turns up with all the stuff in his van and I take it out of the bags and put it in the cupboard (that part is actually still a bit of a ball-ache to be honest).
The meal planner tells us what we are supposed to be eating for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the whole seven days and, because the stuff is already in the cupboard, even a muppet, such as I, can follow the recipe ‘telling-me-what-to-do-‘structions.’
I won’t go as far as to say that I now like cooking or anything mentalistic like that, but I can totally get on board with the idea that someone (and by someone, I do of course mean my laptop) is finally taking the burden of responsibility for the healthy diet of my off-spring, away from me.
All this for £50?
Justin, you are an innovator and a gentleman.
You have changed my life.