A Good Wrap

I often try to prepare my lunch the night before a work day. Just as often I squirm out of it, saying I'll do it in the morning, I'm too tired, it's a hassle, there's no delicious black olives, etc etc.

But when I actually bother, I find myself becoming giddy with a tiny degree of excitement.

It starts with the tortilla wraps, which I subbed in for bread some years ago and never looked back. Then some light honey mustard dressing, a few slices of honey leg ham, tasty cheese, green capsicum, mixed salad leaves, and delicious, delicious black olives.

I think it's healthy. I hope it's healthy. Because, the thing is, it's virtually the only lunch I make.

And even though I know how it will taste, I still get excited by the prospect. By the time I'm wrapping them up in clingfilm, I'm almost disappointed that it will be a sleep and a morning's labour before I can get stuck into those bad boys.

It's not much, but it's mine. ALL MINE.

And I wonder - is it wrong to have some foods that are a comforting, pleasurable routine? An island of familiarity in what can so often be a day of confusion?



It's not that I'm fussy. Well, not so much anymore. I must admit to not inheriting the spirited enjoyment of food experimentation that seems to characterise my paternal line. My grandmother has eaten - and enjoyed - monkey brains, and my father's obsession with those little jars of horror known as "rollmops" is legendary. Pickled herrings? On your toast? What could be nicer?

I always ate a reasonably wide variety of foods, because my parents, particularly that father I just mentioned, cooked well and often.

But with some aspects of food, I seemed to form habits.

As a girl, I ate the same sandwiches for around 10 years. White bread, butter, and a slice of thick ham. Every day.

The idea of putting lettuce and cheese on my sandwiches only occurred to me when I was around 15 years old. I ate lettuce and cheese in other combinations; but for some reason, the concept of a "sandwich", as dreamt of in my philosophy, was white bread, butter and a slice of thick ham. Oh, and the crusts cut off. Of course.

But the adding of delicious fillers was a real light bulb moment. Then, a few sandwiches later, I added some mayonnaise, and it was like a heavenly choir sounding a triumphant "Aaaaahh!".

STUFF GOES ON STUFF. And it is does not have to be scary.

(Except when there are raw tomatoes. I loathe raw tomatoes.)

So while I am more adventurous in trying things, I still have staples that I fall back on.

One of my favourite restaurants in Brisbane, The Continental Cafe in New Farm, always has the most beautiful-sounding dishes on its menu. And yet, I have only ever had the soy lime chicken breast with bok choy and coconut risotto. Why? Because I don't go there often. I can't afford to go every week and try a new thing. So when I go, I choose the dish I had the first time I went there and completely fell in love with (try it yourself, and you'll understand).

Trying food that turns out to be delicious is one of life's great pleasures. But is it wrong to love the predictable, the known quantity? Surely a good wrap deserves a good rap?