For reasons that I will not get into now, I have spent much of the Covid-19 lockdown period overseas, away from my family. I’m home in Australia at last, but as with all arrivals, I’ve been in mandatory hotel quarantine.
I’ve seen headlines comparing hotel quarantine to prison – that hasn’t been my experience. I’d like to offer up an alternative: it is more akin to being treated like a patient, sealed into a nice-enough, hermetically sealed private hospital room (without the beeping equipment), assumed sick until proven otherwise.
I’ve found ways to be creative, and wangle a little more out of the experience – especially when it comes to the food.
That started before I took off. I made sure that my last meal before boarding my flight was exactly what I wanted to eat, to satiate any cravings during the iso, then I committed to not missing it.
Next was my packing list. Luggage allowances are limited, so I pared mine back to the non-negotiables:
A little suitcase of packaged healthy snacks like roasted nuts and nut butters
Coffee beans, a plunger, filters and a hand grinder
A tea strainer and loose herb tea mix
A small plate, a little bowl that can double up a coffee/tea bowl, a fork, a cloth napkin and a small knife
Dishwashing detergent, a dish scourer and a dish towel
I approached the next two weeks of my life as though I was setting up a transient apartment – I couldn’t cook with heat, the windows won’t open, and I couldn’t leave – but once you get into that mindset and a place of acceptance, the rest is pretty easy.
In the hotel food is provided, left outside your door three times a day and signalled by a little knock.
I will not complain about the food. I know they’re trying to appease everyone with the rotation of meals – sushi, roast beef and polenta, and Greek salad with smoked salmon are among some of the fancier dishes. A Russian roulette of global cuisine in 14 days, as chosen by catering companies assigned to feed the masses. Admirable.
I will make mention that a lot of it was reconstituted – served in disposable containers with plastic cutlery – hence why I packed a plate and real cutlery. Considering the current situation it is understandable, though I can’t help but think of how quickly this will accumulate in landfill.
Fortunately, unlimited allowances are given for care packages, food delivery, grocery delivery and goods delivered to reception, brought up to your room and left outside. If you’re ever in my position, choose your arrival port carefully, go to one where you have friends and family who love you and will bring you fresh food, a salad spinner and a grater.
Having friends deliver food and produce has been an lifeline, something to look forward to in the monotony of the days.
During my stay, I’ve ordered in and stocked my trusty bar fridge with salad and bitter greens, herbs, green apples, pears and a tubs of organic Greek yoghurt. Above the fridge there are cans of pickled mussels and smoked oysters, a little bottle of olive oil, Celtic sea salt, fermented hot sauce and miso packets cleverly recommended to me by my darling friend Belinda Jeffery.
I am having early dinners, alternating between delicious takeaway from the nearby Gerard’s bistro and making salad. It’s been enlightening to trial the different dressings one can make with limited ingredients and equipment – but very much doable. The outcome is usually healthier and tastier than what the government is offering.
I have established a routine that kicks off with making my bed and turning up the thermostat to mimic, as best as possible, the ambient temperature outside. Ablutions, meditation and yoga follow.
The urge to fill in your time by cramming food into your lonely mouth is real, despite not being hungry at all. The Japanese have a brilliant term for this: kuchisabishii, or “eating because your mouth is lonely”.
The only “don’t” I have on my list, to avoid as best as you can, is breaking or spilling anything. No one can come to your rescue should you drop a glass of water at 3am in the bathroom (I made this mistake, so I can speak from experience). No vacuum cleaner or dustpan can be sent, unless you happen to have ordered one with your supermarket delivery. Being on your hands and knees until 4am, groggy with sleep, picking up a hundred glass shards was a revelation. It revealed to me that I won’t be doing that again.
My days are filled with work calls, emails, black coffee and herbal tea, broken up by the knock between midday and one signalling lunch, which I don’t eat – except to take out the plastic cutlery and plastic bottle of water.
I now have an entire draw full of plastic cutlery, which I’m certain will someday come in handy to fight off zombies when the real apocalypse arrives.
Surrender to the experience
A salad spinner is a handy piece of kit; not only will it do what it promises but the outer bowl can also be used as a mixing bowl to toss salad in. A knife comes in handy to slice fruit and citrus, as does a zester.
Grab three large handfuls of greens and herbs – I’ve been making mine with rocket, chicory, younger mustard leaves, parsley, dill, mint, celery and celery leaves and lettuces. Wash in the salad spinner basket thoroughly, spin till dry.
Take out the outer layer bowl of the spinner and dry with your handy tea towel.
Place the dried greens and roughly chopped celery into the dried outer bowl, then slice half a pear, half a green apple, a handful of walnuts, pecans or macadamia nuts (whatever you have), zest half a citrus, roughly sprinkle in a teaspoon of sea salt, a generous glug of olive oil and the juice of half the zested citrus.
Toss it thoroughly and loosely with your clean hands until everything is coated, taste it, and adjust according to your preference.
Plate it up on your plate, eat it with a real fork and feel normal, whatever that means. Surrender to the experience – you might surprise yourself by actually enjoying it.
