DELIVERANCE

In New York, when you don't want to cook and don't want to go out, you order in. You phone the restaurant, struggle with someone's heavy accent, place your order and--voila!--a little man arrives on a bike or scooter with your chicken tikka masala or felafel or borscht or sesame noodles, packed up all nice and piping hot in a bag with a cardboard bottom. One gets spoiled and a bit lazy, you know?