You know the kinds of restaurants and take-out places I’m talking about. The food is thoughtful, high quality and reflected in the prices. Their politics is enlightened, if by enlightened you mean liberal, eco-friendly and college-educated. And if you’re wondering whether you’ve patronized such a place look no further than their take-out containers.
Plastic? God forbid! They’re typically recycled brown cardboard known as Kraft from the German word for strength. They’re sustainable, recyclable and several other virtue signaling adjectives to boot. I have no issue with them, per se. Anything that reduces plastic waste is a plus. I’m also not averse to them because they risk stereotyping the establishments that employ them; and me for carrying the remainder of my roast beef sandwich or fettuccini Alfredo home in one.
It’s not as if I feel I have to hide the package under my coat. It’s that I find them hard, if not impossible to close. If you’ve ever been offered one I suspect you know what I mean. They include a flap that slides into a slit. I’m tempted to believe them ageist. Since many of the establishments that use Kraft boxes attract Millennials in their self-consciously relaxed clothing, I assume that anybody under forty has no problem rousing the dexterity required to seal the containers.
Sometimes I succeed when I try. Often I fail. I’m walking down the street on the way to the subway or wherever and all of a sudden the box pops open, exposing the remains of my lunch to the elements. Let me tell you: the last place you want to bare the second half of your turkey club or eggplant parmigiana to society is standing cheek by jowl with fellow passengers on the A train platform.
I needed someone to talk to about my reservations with Kraft containers so I called my daughter Gracie. She and her husband Henry own Barker Cafeteria, a popular without being precious Bed-Stuy restaurant that opened late last year. And, of course, they use the containers in question. I knew that Gracie, who tends to be reasonably well-adjusted, wouldn’t take my criticism of her choice of carryout receptacles personally.
But what I most wanted to know was whether it was just me or if others had issues with the boxes, especially shutting them so they don’t burst open at inopportune moments. She assured me that I wasn’t alone. As a matter of fact she referred to them by employing a four-letter word. As in, “I’ve been closing these little [expletives] for a while.” Gracie claims she’s mastered the maneuver but that at least one of her Gen Z employees continues to struggle with it.
She said that some people get around the issue by bringing the flap up from below and snagging the slit that way. Being an entrepreneur her issue was less with the clasps than with the receptacle’s cost and the fact that a third of her customers request to go boxes. She briefly wondered whether Barker’s portions might be too large — such as their lauded roast beef sandwich with horseradish, watercress and hickory sticks — but quickly banished the idea. Why mess with success?
Also, she acknowledged that her Brooklyn clientele would undoubtedly be thrown into crisis if they were sent on their way toting plastic, though Gracie said that she wouldn’t be above employing aluminum foil containers if she served foods that featured sauces.
I did a little research on the subject and discovered that Kraft containers might not be as environmentally friendly and recyclable as perceived, because most are plastic coated to make them grease-resistant. That came as news to my daughter. She said she’d have to look into it. “If that’s the case,” she observed, “it really is virtue signaling.”
Mind you my issues aren’t limited to Kraft boxes. I have problems resealing boxes in general. When you’re younger you assume you’re the problem. When you’re older you probably are the problem but blame it on the container. For example, just about any food product that comes in a reclosable box — breakfast cereal, crackers, cookies, pasta. My disagreement isn’t with the packaging. I’m capable of mastering the physical challenge. No, it’s when you open the box for the first time and can’t help but tear the flap because the glue used to seal it refuses to give way without a struggle.
The only foolproof way to lock in freshness is to wrap the crackers or whatever in a resealable bag that you stuff inside the cardboard box — let’s not get started on the challenges of meshing both sides of the bag’s plastic tracks. Of course, you’re only as good as the other members of your household. And my wife refuses to join me in believing this is a serious issue. Hence, the disappointment of discovering that your crackers have gone stale and consigning them to the compost bin because someone didn’t follow the rules when, with just a little more consideration, the Saltines still be crunchy and the perfect complement to a piece of cheese. Long after their “best before” date has come and gone.
Ralph Gardner Junior is a journalist who divides his time between New York City and Columbia County. More of his work can be found in the Berkshire Eagle and on Substack.
The views expressed by commentators are solely those of the authors. They do not necessarily reflect the views of this station or its management.
