Farm to Trauma: A Meal Prep Horror Story


It started with an innocent idea. I wanted to eat healthier, cook more at home, and experience the "joy of cooking" without all the hassle of grocery shopping. That’s when I found “From Farm to You”, a meal prep company promising the most authentic farm-to-table experience ever.

They weren’t kidding.

I should’ve suspected something was off when the box arrived. No ice packs. No neatly packaged proteins. Just a rustling sound.

My first meal? Coq au Vin.

I peeled back the tape, expecting chicken breasts vacuum-sealed for my convenience. Instead, a live, very pissed-off chicken launched itself out of the box like a feathery grenade of doom. Feathers flew, clucks turned into screams (mine, not the chicken’s), and my cat fled under the couch, never to be seen again.

I called customer support.

"Yes, sir, at From Farm to You, we believe in ethical sourcing and connecting you with the true origins of your meal."

"Yeah, but the origins just pecked me in the eye! Do you at least send instructions on—"

"Of course! Check the app for a step-by-step guide on how to, er… prepare your protein."

A quick glance at my phone revealed a disturbingly chipper instructional video titled “Meet, Befriend, Then End: The Sustainable Way.”

I did not watch it.

The next week, I forgot to check what meal I was getting. Big mistake.

At 4 p.m., a tanker truck pulled up in front of my house.

A man in overalls hopped out, whistling a happy tune. "Salmon delivery!" he called out.

Before I could process what was happening, he uncoiled a firehose, aimed at my driveway, and unleashed a full-grown, flopping salmon straight into a plastic bag the size of a body pillow.

The poor thing gasped for air, slapping violently against the inside of its makeshift aquarium as I stared in horror.

"You're gonna want to cook that soon," the man advised, wiping fish slime off his sleeve.

By Thanksgiving, I had learned my lesson. I canceled my subscription and settled in to enjoy a simple, store-bought turkey.

Then came the knock.

I opened the door to find a metal cage the size of a washing machine. Inside, a 40-pound turkey with the cold, calculating eyes of a serial killer.

There was a note.

"We noticed you forgot to order this week. We don’t want you to miss out on the magic of a true Thanksgiving. No charge—this one’s on us!"

The turkey locked eyes with me and let out a guttural gobble, deep and ominous.

The cancellation hadn’t gone through.

I slammed the door. Outside, the turkey waited.

I slept with one eye open that night.

A month later, I found another meal prep company. One that sent nicely packaged ingredients. No feathers. No guilt. No salmon unexpectedly arriving in an industrial liquid transfer.

Everything seemed fine.

Until one night, I heard a sound.

A faint… gobbling.

From somewhere in the walls.

I still don’t know how the turkey got in. 

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