Lunch is a bullshit meal. At my most successful, I can figure out something to eat at some point around noon that will not leave me bloated and desperate for a nap, but more often than not I find myself shoving cold leftovers into my face at 2:30 because I suddenly realized I’ve had four cups of coffee and nothing to eat and that’s why asking me to get any work done is like telling me to imagine a new color.
Maybe lunch was cool once, back when people could “do business” over martinis if you were financially comfortable and also a man, but I have never known that world. It is as dead to me as the Library of Alexandria. All I’ve known of lunch is suffering, and $17 salads, and CAVA.
That is, until now. The one benefit of everything falling to shit around you is that you can sit there in the rubble and think “well, if I am underemployed but additionally can’t really leave the house too much I don’t suppose there is any real purpose in having a grain bowl.” My mind has expanded and I have reimagined what is possible. I have finally, after so many years, defeated lunch—by making breakfast.
Here’s my new routine: Around 9 a..m or whenever I get back from walking the dogs I make myself a smoothie. A piece of fruit or some cottage cheese if you’re a cottage cheese freak would also suffice here. The point is you want something nice and light that will take the edge off and tide you over for a few hours.
Then, at noon or one or so, it’s breakfast time. A nice omelette, an egg scramble, hell even some pancakes. The wonderful thing about making breakfast food for lunch is that the options of stuff you like and know how to make are just limited enough that you don’t become paralyzed by options, but expansive enough that it doesn’t get monotonous. We thrive with structure, in my opinion.
I know what you’re thinking: This midday paradise you have found is temporary, for once people must return to the office the siren song of “fucking…. CAVA, I guess?” will be impossible to ignore. Have courage, my friends. There is nothing stopping you from popping over to IHOP.