Take back your lunch hour (all of it!)

In the decade I've been working from home — mostly as a full-time freelance writer — I've made plenty of mildly self-destructive decisions. The non-exhaustive list includes being too lazy to create a separate work email address and working in non-ergonomic environments like at countertops and on the floor. 

I have learned one crucial piece of work-from-home self care, however: I always set aside a whole hour to make and eat lunch. This decision arose out of a rather theatrical meltdown I will recount for you now. 

Related: How to dig out of your next salad rut (plus, a panzanella recipe fit for a hearty lunch)

My background is in magazine editing and writing, but for a short spell I was a correspondent for a daily news site covering the packaged food and beverage industries. I wrote two articles a day, meaning I spent my morning doing a couple interviews, transcribing them and writing feverishly; then I'd break for "lunch" (aka shoveling alternating slabs of cheese, bread and tomato into my mouth) before repeating this insane ritual in the afternoon. 

One day, I was waiting for a source to call me back when I thought I had just enough time to scramble up a couple eggs for a proper lunch. I'd barely whisked the eggs and minced a few chives when my phone rang. I knocked out the interview and posted the story, and was smugly strolling back to the kitchen thinking aloud, "I can have it all," when I came upon a piteous sight.

The fridge door hung open, its incandescent light casting a sickening glow on six or seven chives that were strewn all over the kitchen rug next to half an egg shell, from which a string of egg white was forming a crust like dried-up drool. The counter situation was somehow sadder: a visual orgy of indecision. Four different-sized pans sat next to a flabby wad of softening goat cheese still in its plastic jacket. I'd pulled the entire loaf of bread out of the freezer (yes, I keep bread there — you should, too) to retrieve a single slice, which hung there half attached to the rest of the thawing loaf like a hangnail.

What's worse, my initial thought upon entering the kitchen was, "Who did this?"

Who indeed? 

It was at that moment — eight months into a job that caused me more missed lunches and canker sores than I could count as I stared down my 30th birthday — that I realized it was time for a change. It's been almost eight years since I started working for myself, and scarcely a day has gone by when I haven't taken an hour to make and eat lunch. 

Weekday lunch demands time, attention and strategic shopping, which gets easier as you learn what you crave midday. Because I cook and eat for a living, my weekday lunches are usually vegetarian or vegan, and often eggy: things like shakshuka, oven-baked sweet potato hash and 15-minute saag paneer with halloumi and clean-out-the-fridge greens. I almost always have a salad, either as a side — think cabbage and mint slaw — or the main event. Go-tos include lemony tuna salad with white beans, panzanella with pickled pepper dressing, or seared cucumber and couscous tossed in my favorite tahini dressing (recipe below; you're welcome). I've found that it helps to always have lots of fresh herbs and nuts around; that way I can mash together a quick herb sauce right on the cutting board with a garlic clove, olive oil and citrus juice — and my sharpest knife. From there, I'll smear it on a sandwich, or toss it with roasted vegetables. 

Of course, there are plenty of days in which the prospect of preparing a midday meal feels insurmountable enough to order sandwiches or eat leftovers. But since I've embraced this almost-daily ritual, I find myself fantasizing about what I'll make for that day's midday meal while I'm still eating breakfast. When I'm between calls or struggling to come up with a good headline, I'll make a mental inventory of my fridge contents and start putting the lunch-puzzle pieces together. Once 11 rolls around, I'll sneak away from my laptop to get some farro going or wash and dry lettuce. I've also been known to appear a minute or two late to an interview after lunch because I was griddling a ham, cheddar and kimchi sandwich. (In my defense, you cannot rush a griddled sandwich.)

In other words, I've slowly taken back a slice of my day that for far too long belonged to work for no other reason than I let it. I even start my workdays a little earlier than I used to, if only to eke out time for my glorious midday break.

Now I realize that homemade weekday lunch is not a possibility for everyone for a whole litany of reasons. But the great thing about it is this idea translates. For instance, do you brew a perfect cup of coffee or tea? Can you whip up a mean batch of blueberry jam, granola or pan bread? Whatever your thing, the essence of this ritual is to carve out time for yourself every day to recharge with a little self-loving activity that puts you square in the present moment. It's meditation for the meditation-averse. 

That's why cooking works so beautifully. You have to eat anyway; plus, it's pretty hard to successfully half-ass it. I should know, I once covered my entire kitchen in dried-up raw egg, chives and shame.

***

Recipe: Sumac-seared cucumber salad with tahini dressing

More by this author:

• My 10-year carbonara journey
• A love letter to all the produce I haven't picked
• At Bombera, Oakland's Chicano cooking heritage is the future
• Do not rage-cook mapo tofu, and other emotional kitchen lessons
• Let's griddle every sandwich, from ham and cheese to peanut butter and honey