Last dash breakfast
Think back to yourself at thirteen years old. If you were anything like me, you proba- bly slept right up to the minute Mom pulled out of the drive- way on the morning drive to school. You flung on the same pair of shorts you’ve worn for six weeks, a polo with a mus- tard stain, and dashed out the door with your backpack un- zipped, your half-assed Math homework unfurling from your bag and fluttering into the wind.
You leap into the sliding door of the minivan like a tramp catch- ing the last freight train out of Fort Worth, cram your feet into your fetid socks, then jam into Airwalks two sizes too big. If it was 2007 and you were cool, that’s what you wore.
“Shit. You didn’t bring lunch.”
The drive to school takes four minutes. What ought to be a fresh morning walk is rendered to a harried race in a dented gray Dodge Caravan. You arrive with mere moments before the first bell. Mom rolls the van to a slow — not a stop — and you spill into the parking lot before gaining your footing halfway through your foal’s gallop to first period. Damn AirWalks.
It’s midway through first-period Social Studies, and Mrs. Dick- son is droning on about Father Junípero Serra and some dusty building. Your mind begins the free association from Catholic missions to Mission tortilla chips to the nuclear queso cheese sauce from Taco Bell. You can hear that “gong” from the commercials.
Shit. You didn’t bring lunch.
You curse this morning’s version of you, the one who sa- vored those last crumbs of sleep yet now deprives you of crumbs of anything. Even the Communion wafers suddenly don’t sound half bad.
Ah, yes. Welcome to the Book of Al, a story of a young man too lazy to ensure one of life’s most basic needs. But as they say, some of mankind’s most important inventions come from the laziest individuals, as they will find the easiest way from A to B.
It was in these moments that I devised a menu of mad-dash, 30-seconds-to-spare lunches to grab and go. You’ll be out the door before Mom even starts the car. Should you find yourself in a similar pre- dicament, stick to these tried and true basics --
» Can of chili
» Box of lunch meat
» Cheez-Its + peanuts
Did I actually eat those for lunch? Yes, proudly. I kept a can opener in my backpack for the chili. And I got some weird stares from my classmates as I tore into rolls of honey roasted turkey. I think my teachers probably called the cops.
Your stomach in the morning
Let’s face it -- nothing worth eating can be made in thirty seconds. But if you hit the snooze button only seven times rather than eight, you’ll have five whole minutes to pack the perfect lunch.
It’s easy. Components are: carbs for energy, fats and pro- teins to keep you full. Veggies if you have them. And a nip of sugar to keep you sane.
And just like that, you too can eat like a desperate 12 year old.