There are plenty of reasons to buy a reusable food container. Concerns about chemicals leaching from containers into food are ongoing. Currently, Styrofoam is not even recycled in most of Toronto, so it goes straight to the Michigan landfill. There is even a campaign to get Styrofoam packaging banned in the city, “Get it to Go Green!” which is garnering more attention and support as it is more widely publicised and as more people grow eco-consciences.

There are a few reasons not to get one - you have to drag it around with you everywhere you go, nothing is a standardized size, and containers like Tupperware always seem to leave food with that nasty “suburban microwave” aftertaste. In response, some advocate a return to in-home cooking. Frankly, even if my life suddenly did include scads of free time and top-of-the-line cooking supplies, I’d still get take-out, just because my chana masala will never come out as good as from Little India, and sometimes eating in my pajamas just feels right.

However, I can - or rather, Tap Phong (360 Spadina Avenue) can - offer you a viable solution to at least some of these concerns.

While browsing at the Chinatown equivalent of a department store, I noticed a pile of translucent magenta and green Asian-style food containers. I could say I felt like getting “ahead of the game,” or that I am some sort of eco-warrior, paving the way socially with my actions. But in reality, it just looked cool. I, for one, am attracted to bright colours, and so I lingered for a moment over the box full of them. “Hey,” I thought after a moment, “these could be really useful!” They
had paper ones for sale as well, but the plastic ones were more easily foldable into a smaller size for travelling, and less likely to disintegrate due to heat or water. I selected a magenta one and paid the 69 cents and tax for it, which seemed about right for a folded piece of plastic with a small metal handle. What I failed to anticipate is the awesomeness I was buying.

Another trend in restaurants beyond Styrofoam takeout is the growing portions. While on the one hand I feel like I am getting more bang for my buck, there is a point at which my body simply protests and threatens intestinal upset if I try to force any more food into it. This is where the container first came in handy.

Instead of struggling through that last quarter of food on my plate or asking the server to doggie-bag it, which also entails getting a plastic bag, and of course getting the sauce all over the plastic bag because of the way the rectangular containers are balanced, I could simply scoop the leftovers into my container with a fork. I could be picky and leave out the little bits I knew I wouldn’t eat later anyway, and I could either omit the leftover oil and sauce on my plate, or pile it on, safe in the knowledge that it would stay within the confines of plastic corners. In five weeks of use and abuse, it only leaked once, and that was when I didn’t close the lid properly.

After a while of mainly using it as a leftovers container or a lunch box, it finally occurred to me to do other things with it. While it had served me well, it felt like it was time for the magenta container to prove itself. In the tradition of heroes of old, I sent it through three trials, three tests of strength and versatility: the Food Court, the Lunch Stop, and finally, the Dishwasher.

Our first destination was Thai Express (Eaton Centre, 220 Yonge Street). I must admit, I picked this spot in part because their take-out containers are paper versions of my own. The first trial is usually the easiest, and I was feeling a bit anxious myself. Before ordering, I asked the cashier if they could put my meal in “this,” proffering the container humbly. She was confused but obliging, and said “Yes,” passing it back to the cooks. The cooks and the cashier conversed quickly in their native tongue, far beyond my understanding. The cook who seemed about the same age as me gave me a half-look, chuckled to himself, and went back to his enormous wok.

My container sat in the middle ground as my food was prepared, looking lonely and out of place. I grew even more anxious, hoping it wouldn’t get knocked over or damaged, wondering whether the cooks were talking about it, about me. I realized that I had grown rather attached to my container, perhaps more so than is reasonable. The Greek gods assigning tests never had this problem! I felt like a sucker, like a sentimental fool who was never going to see her magenta food container again!

Of course, it was delivered back to me safe and sound, and with basil stir-fry inside. To ease my nerves, I ate my lunch quietly and slowly before proceeding onto the next trial.

The second test was brief and disappointing. I walked into Ginger 2 (403 Yonge Street), one of my favourite lunch spots, and asked again if my meal could be put in “this.” The cashier took the container, looked it over, and quickly concluded “Too small.” With firsthand knowledge of the copious amounts of noodles and greens given at the place, I had to agree. Despite being a quart-sized box, it simply wouldn’t fit it all. I sighed an “I thought so. Thank you.” and made my exit.

Ambivalent and downcast, I went home. While the container had proved handy to me already, most people do not have leftovers half as often as I do. How could I prove this container’s immense usefulness, to myself and to the world?

Into the dark cave it went.

Impaled upon a jutting stalagmite of metal, my container waited, belly down, exposed. With a worried heart, I shut the door to the outside world, and set the device to flood the entire area with hot, soapy water.

I had set my dishwasher to “pots and pans,” the most intense setting on our new, “Never pre-wash again!” appliance. I busied myself with other chores, but in the back of my mind, I fully expected the container to fail this third test as well. Images of grotesquely melted plastic floated through my mind I bit my lip and hoped quietly for its safe return. While it would be little trouble to pick up a new one, I liked this one, dammit!

54 minutes later, I pulled out the top rack of the dishwasher cautiously, maybe even holding my breath. Shiny and intact, my container gleamed proudly at me from amidst the mugs, having passed the most difficult of trials with not a scratch on it. Success!

So, while 69 cents plus tax at Tap Phong won’t save the world or even replace take-out containers completely, it is a damn good thing to pick up all the same. It is light, versatile, understated and fashionable, and ready to accompany you to your furthest fast food destination with ease. I could only find two drawbacks with my purchase. One was that there was not a larger size, to accommodate full meals and slices of pizza, and two was that the container was so useful that my attachment to it could probably get me ridiculed. Good thing I am not telling anyone, right?