Most things served at a chain restaurant
I was born in California which means I was raised on a steady diet of sunshine, sandy beaches, and massive portions of food served in a chain restaurant that was most likely located inside of a mall. Californians didn’t view places like P.F. Changs and The Olive Garden as being kitschy and ironic. They were actually just good places to eat. I carried this belief over with me to the East Coast and as a result, I can’t go a month without dining in some airy, expansive chain restaurant in Midtown that offers Kirstie Alley quantities of food. Screw this trend of bougie comfort food. I’ll take cheddar biscuits over $8 gourmet ice cream sandwiches any day! That being said, I’m not particularly proud of my fondness for trashy food. Going to a chain restaurant initially fills my heart with joy but when the experience ends, I’m hurting bad. It feels like someone just took a steaming dump inside of my stomach and threw in some knives while they were at it. “I wish I could quit you,” I often whisper to myself as I enter the doors of a place like California Pizza Kitchen. But I can’t. I’m an abused lover just looking for their next hit of ranch dressing.
Chips and guacamole
My love for chips and guacamole knows no bounds but gosh darn it if it hasn’t burned me in the past! The thing with chips and dip is that your body doesn’t send the “I’m full!” memo to your brain until it’s too late. You go from fiesta avocado euphoria to debilitating stomach pain and shame in one single bite. I seriously wish there was an app that could tell you when to stop eating so as to avoid all of this darkness. But would we stop even then? If we had something that told us, “No, seriously. Stop eating chips and guac or else you’re going to regret it…” we’d probably throw our phone against the wall and watch it smash into a million pieces as we gleefully shoved some more food into our mouths.
I never quite understood how roommates could just steal each other’s food like it was NBD. Hello, they’re going to notice and you’re going to become the recipient of a passive aggressive handwritten note! Besides, who steals food?! Who does that?! Then I discovered, after moving in with my BFF last year, that I do that. I’m a roommate food stealer. In my defense, it usually happens when I’m drunk or on Ambien but I realize that it’s still not an excuse. My roommate will wake up the next day, excited to eat her leftovers at work that day, only to discover that they’re gone. Perished! I usually feel so guilty afterward that I take her out to a nice dinner but I still don’t think that makes us even. God, I’m a terrible person!
Unless you’re having a tangerine for dinner, your body rarely needs second helpings of anything. You’re full after the first round. You just gotta wait for the food to settle. I know all of this intellectually but I still can’t resist rolling up to the pot of leftover warm pasta and eating it out with a spoon. I sincerely believe that by refusing to put the food on my plate, I’ll eat less of it but it’s not true. I’m that freak standing over the pot alone in my kitchen, shoveling the remnants in my mouth until what was going to be lunch the next day is now just my second dinner.
That extra cup of coffee
No one needs that extra cup of coffee. It will give you cracked out energy for 30 minutes and smelly poop and coffee breath for the next 8 hours.
I know you’re wasted and hallucinating slices of pizza but just eat some bread when you get home and pass out. Because if you eat something at 4 AM, you’ll wake up hungover five hours later and feel like you have a bowling ball in your stomach. Being uncomfortably full at 9am while also tackling a hangover is the antithesis of fun. It feels disgusting. So just close your eyes and resist opening the fridge. You’ll pass out instantly and wake up feeling famished. It’ll be great.