Welcome to The Receipt , a series documenting how Bon Appétit readers eat and what they spend doing it. Each food diary follows one anonymous reader’s week of expenses related to groceries, restaurant meals, coffee runs, and every bite in between. In this time of rising food costs , […]
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Welcome to The Receipt, a series documenting how Bon Appétit readers eat and what they spend doing it. Each food diary follows one anonymous reader’s week of expenses related to groceries, restaurant meals, coffee runs, and every bite in between. In this time of rising food costs, The Receipt reveals how folks—from different cities, with different incomes, on different schedules—are figuring out their food budgets. Think Refinery29’s Money Diaries but only food or The Grub Street Diet but regular people.
In today’s Receipt, a 25-year-old nonprofit worker making $56,000 a year recovers from top surgery in Brooklyn. Keep reading for their receipts.
Jump ahead:
What are your pronouns? They/them
What is your occupation? I work full-time at a nonprofit and also do a lot of side gigs—part-time contract work for other nonprofits, participating in research studies, pet-sitting, helping people move and build furniture, and whatever else comes up.
How old are you? 25
What city and state do you live in? New York, NY
What is your annual salary, if you have one? $56,000
How much is one paycheck, after taxes? $1,500 from my nonprofit job, after taxes, health insurance, union dues, and 401(k) contributions. Last month, I also made $1,500 from a month-long contract project and $300 for participating in a 20-hour online nonprofit training course.
How often are you paid? (e.g., weekly) Biweekly
How much money do you have in savings? $20,000. I graduated without student loans with family help, don’t have dependents, and didn’t have many health needs prior to transitioning. I was also laid off from a day job because of the pandemic and was collecting unemployment.
What are your approximate fixed monthly expenses beyond food? (i.e., rent, subscriptions, bills)
- Rent: $1,120
- Wi-Fi: $27.50
- Medical prescriptions: $25
- Utilities: Around $50
- Spotify: $2.89 (Family plan split six ways)
- Magazine subscription to The Nib: $5
- MetroCard: Around $50
- Phone: $30
- Total: $1,310.39
Do you follow a certain diet or have dietary restrictions? No. I did go vegetarian with an ex-girlfriend in college, but I eat meat now.
What are the grocery staples you always buy, if any?
- Chobani Flips, bagels, and Honey Bunches of Oats for a fast breakfast
- Bananas, raspberries, strawberries, oranges, grapes, or whatever fruit is in season
- Spinach, romaine, arugula, and any toppings or dressings to make salads
- Coke, kombucha, lemonade
- Preprepared food to stock the freezer, such as frozen pasta, dumplings, fried rice, and breakfast items
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How often in a week do you dine out versus cook at home? I dine out three to four times a week. If I’m slammed at work, I’ll either forget to eat until 3 p.m. and forage something from the fridge, or I’ll get desperate and order delivery. If I’m meeting up with friends on the weekend or for an event, we usually consider trying a new restaurant.
How often in a week did you dine out while growing up? Both my parents worked late, so when I was younger I was fed a lot of takeout on weeknights. Sitting down at a table to eat meals together was not a thing—I remember a lot of Chinese takeout, pizza, fast-food drive-through combos, and not many fresh options. It’s a bad habit I’ve continued in my adult life. On Friday nights, we’d usually go out to a restaurant as a family event.
How often in a week did your parents or guardians cook at home? They usually cooked on the weekends and one or two weeknights, but it was really more of an everyone-feed-yourself situation. My dad cooked more often because it was inexpensive for him to buy the groceries he wanted for a meal (he was on SNAP), and I got the feeling my mom forced herself to cook because she thought it was what good moms do, not because she actually wanted to. My dad is mostly vegetarian and usually cooked light soups, steamed veggies, rice, and pasta or noodles. My mom made a lot of chicken Shake ‘N Bakes, mashed potatoes or rice, dark green vegetables, and chicken wings if she was feeling ambitious. In high school I was really into cooking all my meals and experimenting with online recipes, such as baked salmon, chicken teriyaki, and Pinterest desserts, but that habit has since fallen off because of my day job and my tiny, terrible New York apartment kitchen.
- Week’s total: $1.05, or $184.94 including amount covered by Grubhub gift card and food previously bought
- Restaurants and cafés total: $1.05, or $121.05 including amount covered by Grubhub gift card
- Groceries total: $0, or $63.89 including food previously bought
- Least-expensive meal or purchase: Banana, $0.19
- Number of restaurant and café meals: 5
- Number of grocery trips: 3 (1 big trip, 1 grocery delivery, 1 snack run)
12 p.m. I just woke up from anesthesia. I’ve taken a month off work to get gender-affirming top surgery—I have insurance and medical PTO thanks to a union. I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything since midnight the night before, so I chug the cup of water a nurse hands me. She offers a choice of saltine or graham crackers, and I accept the graham crackers because I think they’ll be less dry. She unwraps and puts three crackers on my hospital gown–covered stomach. It takes a conscious effort to pick up the cracker and move it to my face. I take one bite. It tastes like gummy cardboard and takes what feels like five minutes to chew. I don’t finish the crackers.
2 p.m. A different nurse brings me a tray of hospital food—pasta with tomato sauce, three whole steamed carrots, roasted kale, an airline meal–looking salad, apple sauce, more saltine crackers, and black coffee. It takes a lot of energy to lift my arm and reach the plate, but I’m surprised I’m very hungry and shovel the pasta and kale into my mouth, taking breaks to rest. The kale is salty and if I were sober I’d probably think it was bad, but I’m still riding on leftover anesthesia so it tastes great. I put the apple sauce and saltines to the side so I can bring them home. The surgeon requires patients to stay overnight at the hospital (a scheme to drain insurance companies, I’ve heard).
7 p.m. I wake from a three-hour nap and am feeling a lot better than when I first woke up. A third nurse brings me another tray with rice, chicken on a bone, green beans, chocolate pudding, and another black coffee, although it’s night time. I eat the rice and green beans but the chicken is difficult to cut so I wait for a nurse to help me. Earlier, I had tried to plug my phone charger into an outlet and didn’t have the arm strength. The chicken is dry and I can only muster eating half of it.
9:30 p.m. I try the chocolate pudding and eat most of the cup. I wouldn’t eat pudding otherwise, but I’m very bored. It’s a little watery but not too sweet. I take a few sips of the lukewarm coffee because I’m tired enough to knock out anyway.
9 a.m. Discharge day! A nurse brings me a plate of scrambled eggs, chopped-up potatoes and bell peppers, and, of course, a black coffee. I’m not offered a selection of drinks and don’t know if they serve others. I eat all of it and it is delicious. The IV in my arm is really starting to bother me, and I wait in anticipation for my roommate and bestie to pick me up.
12 p.m. I am lying in bed on an elevated wedge pillow after we Ubered home (the bouncing made me really feel the incision stitches). I drink a disposable water bottle and snack on some Haribo gummy peaches ($1.99, Morton Williams), both previously bought, that I’ve placed strategically around me in bed for easy access. I’m not allowed to push, pull, stretch, or lift more than 10 pounds for four to six weeks, so on Sunday I went to Trader Joe’s and Morton Williams to stock up on a couple weeks’ worth of food I could easily heat up or not have to cook. My kitchen sink is recessed so I wouldn’t be able to reach the faucet, and I didn’t think I’d have the energy to get out and in bed to keep refilling the steel water bottle I usually drink out of, so I had also ordered 80 disposable water bottles (2 packs of 40, $26.30 after tip and fees) from a faraway Costco via Instacart.
5 p.m. I wake from a four-hour nap. I keep saying I feel great, then immediately pass out. I don’t feel particularly hungry but think I should eat, so I use the step stool I had placed in the kitchen for accessibility to air-fry some frozen mini pizzas ($3.99, previously bought at Trader Joe’s) and get a bottled mango smoothie ($2.99, previously bought at Trader Joe’s). The binder and tightness of my chest makes it hard to sit up straight. I eat the pizzas slowly in bed, with breaks to stare at nothing—the hospital stay and fatigue made me accustomed to eating silently without watching, reading, or listening to anything—then go back to lying down.
11 p.m. I have a late-night burst of energy and make a microwaved bowl of Kraft macaroni and cheese ($2.89, previously bought at Morton Williams). My mom used to make macaroni with squares of Kraft American cheese that was not very good, and when I discovered the Kraft powder cheese I thought it was better. I’m eating way more frozen, processed food than normal. I already feel like crap and am just eating to live at this point. I open a box of frozen chocolate strawberries that I share with my roommate ($2.79, previously bought at Trader Joe’s).
10 a.m. Every day I feel a little bit better, and today I’m able to strip and empty the drains that are funneling excess blood and fluid out of my body by myself. After writing down the ounce measurements, dumping the fluid in the toilet, and trashing the alcohol wipes and gloves, I eat a banana ($0.19, previously from Trader Joe’s) and a Chobani Flip S’more S’mores ($1.69, Trader Joe’s). If I don’t add anything to yogurt I feel like I’m eating baby food, so the flips are my go-to.
2:30 p.m. After a three-hour fatigue nap, I microwave some frozen chicken and vegetable dumplings by putting water on them and covering them with a paper towel ($3.49, Trader Joe’s). They’re pretty dry so I drizzle them with sriracha. I would normally fry them, but I don’t want to mess with our heavy wok pan right now. I’m staying in today too—there’s a heat wave, I’m wearing a binder with drains, it takes me two minutes to wiggle out of bed, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to open the heavy downstairs building door by myself.
5 p.m. My roommate makes a slightly spicy pasta with sausage, corn, and tomato for both of us. They have to open the kitchen window and close the door to my room where the fire alarm is, because the kitchen is really just a hallway and doesn’t have a vent. After we eat, my roommate leaves to go to a birthday party. Summer is my favorite season and I have FOMO for all the events I’m missing, but I know the surgery will pay off next year when I can run around shirtless.
8 p.m. I snack on a Hershey’s bar ($5.99 for 6, Morton Williams), along with another banana ($0.19, Trader Joe’s).
10:15 p.m. My roommate’s not back and I don’t have anything else to do, so I microwave another bowl of the leftover pasta. It’s just as good reheated.
2 p.m. Since I ate late last night, I don’t get hungry until the afternoon, and then I delay thinking about food even more until I’m really ravenous. I’m not sure if it’s a personal side effect from hormone therapy, but more recently, feeding myself has felt like a chore and I’m not excited about food. I’m not allowed to shower until Friday, so I feel crummy and gross and am ready to inject fresh food into my body. The online training for my nonprofit job that I did last month gave all the participants a $120 Grubhub gift card for meals, and I had saved it to use during recovery. I order a salad from Sweetgreen with spinach, arugula, broccoli, tomatoes, red onion, chicken, and guacamole ($23.51 after tip and fees, covered by the gift card). I didn’t have many veggies growing up, so I didn’t find out what arugula was until I met my college girlfriend, who is a true lesbian and has worked on farms.
4:19 p.m. I get a severe bubble tea craving and know that my roommate won’t be back until late, so I order a jasmine milk tea with boba, 50% sugar, and less ice from I’Milky for delivery ($15.31 after tip and fees). I feel ridiculous for spending so much on a drink, but I justify it by saying I’m using a gift card and that it will improve my quality of life, and it does.
7:30 p.m. I’m now on a delivery roll and order a small pan of macaroni and cheese with broccoli, spinach, and breadcrumbs from S’MAC ($18.25 after tip and fees). I don’t snack on a lot other than drinks and sweets after meals, so I feel back on my regular schedule of one to two large meals a day. I graze on the macaroni and cheese and finish over the course of an hour.
9 p.m. I nibble on some more gummy peaches and Hershey’s bars I have stashed in my desk, while watching the documentary Victoria’s Secret: Angels and Demons with a free Hulu trial.
11:30 a.m. I had a doctor’s appointment in the morning so I skipped breakfast. I thought I would be able to take a short walk and get a cold beverage afterward as a treat, but it feels so scary to be outside with my new body and all the medical equipment attached that I immediately Uber home. My roommate had made themself some chicken quesadillas the night before and offered me the leftovers, so I air-fry those. The chicken is pretty dry (are there any moist chickens left?!) so I use generous dips of sour cream. The tortilla is crispy and puffy. I’m about to have my first post-op shower and wanted to eat first in case the steam, physical exertion, or seeing my nipples without gauze would make me pass out.
3 p.m. After my shower and lying down, I feel great. I find a Nature’s Bakery fig bar in the kitchen (sometimes my roommate buys pantry food then doesn’t touch it for months, at which point I help myself) and eat it while trying to read The Book of Delights by Ross Gay. I still have brain fog and it’s hard for me to read or write or concentrate on anything. I used to eat these fig bars a lot in college, but now I find them overly sweet and only eat half.
7 p.m. I still have Grubhub money, so I browse the options and order a berry crepe from T-Swirl Crêpe for dinner ($17.91 after tip and fees, covered by the gift card). When the food arrives, I lock myself in my room to eat because my roommate brought a friend over. The crepe is in a paper cone so I don’t have to maneuver any cutting, and I eat it while listening to the podcast Las Culturistas. The raspberries, blueberries, and strawberries taste fresh, and it’s not too sweet until I get to the bottom of the cone, where a lot of whipped cream has pooled up.
11 a.m. I was supposed to take laxatives every day after surgery because the opioids in anesthesia and daily Tylenol can wreck your digestive system, but for some reason I skipped this step because I thought my body would naturally take care of itself—wrong! My chest is super flat but my stomach is bloated and hard as a rock. I look like Vector from Despicable Me. I admit that I have also been eating like shit and should have prepared better. I put Miralax in a water bottle and drink it in one go, vowing to take it every day going forward. My roommate makes shakshuka with a Trader Joe’s starter they had in the freezer. They add avocado and sour cream and lots of pita bread on the side. We eat it straight out of the pan to minimize dishwashing. It is warm and delicious but I stay away from the bread and don’t gorge myself. They are cooking more often than usual since I’m unable to do a lot of cooking by myself.
5 p.m. I hang out on my roommate’s couch the whole day and we order Dos Toros (a better Chipotle) for dinner. They get a chicken bowl with cauliflower rice and I get a carne asada bowl. The Grubhub gift card covers $45.02 then runs out, and I pay $1.05. I cover my roommate’s meal since they are doing all the household duties that are difficult for me, like my laundry, taking out the trash, cleaning, and taking care of the two cats. Some other friends had offered to bring me food, but I didn’t want to take them up on it unless I was seriously struggling, because they don’t live nearby. I didn’t tell my family about the surgery and I don’t think they’ll notice. I’m eating very slowly because my stomach feels uncomfortable and I’m not that hungry. One of the cats keeps trying to eat my food and I get tired of fighting him, so I quit and put everything in the fridge.
12 p.m. I’m starting to wake up later since I’m not working. I eat the other half of my leftover Dos Toros bowl, and my stomach has deflated enough overnight that I can really enjoy it.
3 p.m. My roommate makes a Trader Joe’s run and gets me a Health-Ade kombucha ($3.50) and sea salt brownies ($2.99). I Venmo them and they open the kombucha for me because I still don’t have the strength to do it myself. We hang out in their room and I sip and snack on both while working on a mini 3D puzzle of a bear they gave me in case I got bored. My back hurts because I’m hunched over and my brain still isn’t ready for this level of concentration. I take a break to lie down and end up taking a nap.
7 p.m. I watch a live comedy show on Zoom that I registered for earlier and heat up the other half of the frozen mini pizzas from Tuesday, along with a bag of Boom Chicka Pop microwave popcorn ($4.99 for a pack of 6, Morton Williams). It is delicious, but after a while the butter starts coating my fingers. I only finish a quarter of the bag before I’m full. I give the rest to my roommate, who is doing remote work on their computer.
