![]() ![]() If you did it for 50 years, that is 6,500 hours – about nine months. Even if you stick to 30 minutes and discount weekends, that is 130 hours a year on the ordinary grind. How many weeks of my wild and precious life have been spent staring into a full fridge that, inexplicably, seems incapable of yielding a meal? Or chopping and frying onions, or picking up those papery garlic skins that float everywhere? A 2019 survey found 51% of people were willing to spend up to 30 minutes on week-night cooking, and 43% up to an hour. It had to be me because I would be insufferable otherwise.īut I am fed up of feeding. They would have happily cooked, but I am a fussy eater and a controlling one, with opinions on everything from pasta shapes (ban fusilli) to where black pepper goes (not on chips). Please don’t imagine I am some put-upon housekeeper for complacent man-babies who expected to be fed at every meal. I have been feeding others as well as myself daily for over 25 years, from spat-out baby puree right up to last night’s burritos. It’s cooking and the subsidiary, possibly worse, chore of deciding what to cook that I’m sick of. Not that food – that most reliable of pleasures – is the problem. I used to be appalled at what my father would offer on my impromptu visits: three wizened apples, a thimble of sunflower seeds and a two-pack of shortbread fingers from Great Western Railway, the latter presented proudly as a decadent indulgence. No, you can’t have broccoli, this gluten-free muesli bought by accident in 2017 is sufficiently nutritious, and no, the black specks aren’t weevils. Well before my sons left, I ran down our overstocked cupboards, treating food requests with miserly suspicion. “Then we stock up on beans and baking potatoes.” This is no empty promise: I’ve been preparing and anticipating for months. “I’ll make your birthday dinner,” I told my husband, grudgingly. ![]() So it’s just the two of us and that means one thing. After some last-minute flapping (how many succulents can you squeeze into a wheelie case, don’t pack a pestle and mortar heavier than a neutron star, that kind of thing), the last fledgling left. It's about nostalgia too - and hope for the future.M y nest is officially empty. But this pilgrimage to McDonald's is more than a crosstown trek. Holovatenko and his friends have come from the other side of the city, across the Dnipro River. "It's a nice gift from McDonald's," says Yaroslav Holovatenko, as he clutches a Big and Tasty - a quarter-pounder - in a cold and rainy park in Pozniaky, an outer neighborhood of the capital Kyiv near all three of the reopened McDonald's. Regular citizens and high government officials alike flocked to snap selfies with their Big Macs and devour meals they haven't been able to enjoy in months. Three locations reopened on Tuesday, welcoming war-weary Ukrainians back beneath the warm glow of the golden arches. 24, the day Russia invaded, citing the safety of employees. The American fast food chain temporarily closed its more than 100 Ukrainian locations on Feb. KYIV, Ukraine - McDonald's has reopened in Ukraine, after seven months of war. Maxym Marusenko/NurPhoto via Getty Images ![]() Three locations in Kyiv reopened for the first time since Russia's invasion on Feb. ![]() Customers and delivery couriers line up at a newly reopened McDonald's in Kyiv on Tuesday. ![]()
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