When the Food of Convenience Fits Your Needs, but the Guilt Feels Heavy — Kitchn Nerves

Every Wednesday morning at 6:15, my son and I pile into the Subaru for the slog north in Seattle traffic to his weekly vision therapy appointment. It's fun for no one, but it's something we have to do. Which is why around 6:23 on Wednesdays, when we've stopped sweating from the rush out the door, we reliably pull into our local Starbucks drive-thru and I order him a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich and a boxed chocolate milk. I get myself a coffee and those little sous-vide egg bites. We eat in the dark, under stoplights, usually in silence.

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