I eat canned tuna and sauerkraut for lunch.
You'd think the previous sentence wouldn't require further explanation, but here we are thanks to an inquiring mind that responded to my newsletter, wanting to learn the dirtiest details of my early-afternoon affair with food.
Here goes nothing.
First, I open a can of tuna. I use a Hamilton Beach electric can opener. It’s black with a glossy finish. I never hook the can correctly onto the opener on my first try. This is when all of the motivational content I consume comes in handy.
DON’T STOP UNTIL YOU’RE PROUD.
DREAMS DON’T WORK UNLESS YOU DO.
SUCCESS IS NOT AN ACTIVITY, BUT A PROCESS.
I persist.
Once the can is open, I squish the newly formed lid down into the tuna and pour out the water. Sometimes the tuna in the can is solid and meaty and the water pours out nicely, leaving me with thick, dry chunks of tuna. This is a good day. Sometimes the tuna in the can is saturated and slimy and a gelatinous substance oozes from the can leaving me with a substance easily mistaken for Fancy Feast. This is a bad day.
(Would you rather drink a glass of tuna water or a glass of dirty dishwater? I’m dishwater all the way, assuming the soap suds create a beer-like head on the beverage.)
I’ve learned how to minimize bad days and maximize good days: buy generic store brands instead of StarKist.
Once the tuna is drained, I use a fork to eject the tuna onto a plate. I scrape the hockey-puck-sized aluminum can clean. Can’t let any proteins go to waste. (Protip: you can use the size of a tuna can to estimate how many proteins you're eating. As long as you’re eating protein-rich food, a hockey-puck-sized portion will contain around 20-30 grams of proteins.)
Next, I open a can of sauerkraut. Unfortunately, the cans of sauerkraut I buy are too big for my electric can opener. (Or I can’t hook the cans onto the opener correctly?) I use a manual can opener. This is the extent of my wrist training. Sauerkraut induced supination strength. I alternate which hand I use when I open cans of sauerkraut. Trying to avoid muscle imbalances, you know?
I dump a sizable portion of sauerkraut next to the tuna. I don’t measure. I put enough on the plate to help mask the taste of tuna. The big cans I buy last three or four days.
I also use mustard and/or Frank’s Red Hot to further mask the taste of tuna. As you can see, I don’t like the taste of tuna. I’d rather set my nostrils on fire with Dijon than let tuna have its way with my taste buds.
This is not a meal meant for enjoyment. This is not a meal meant for health, either. Canned tuna can't be healthy. Fresh tuna is a different story. Fresh tuna looks like a Maui sunset. Canned tuna is the color of an old man who died from pancreatic cancer twenty-three days ago.
This is a frugal meal. This is an “I have two toddlers and I need to buy three gallons of milk every week” meal. This is an “I’m too embarrassed to tell my friends what I eat for lunch” meal. This is a “Wait a minute, how much do those two throw pillows cost?” meal.
This is also a quick meal. Convenient. No cooking is required. Although, beware. There's a downside (beyond being less appetizing than licking the bottom of a janitor’s boot): the smell. This is not a workplace-friendly lunch. If you eat canned tuna in a community breakroom, make sure you bring a handgun to protect yourself from the money-back-guaranteed onslaught of coworkers with curdled stomachs.
Soaking tuna in sauerkraut juice might help with the smell. Then again, sauerkraut doesn’t smell great either. Stings the nostrils. Still, it’s better than the smell of tuna. (Soak the tuna in lemon juice?)
There are two ways to upgrade this lunch, to make it healthier.
First,
Eat sardines instead of tuna.
When you open sardines, you can actually tell they were once fish. Canned tuna looks like a fish that was eaten by a fish that was eaten by a human that ended up in a circular aluminum container after a night of drinking tequila mixed with whiskey; canned tuna looks like fish as much as projectile vomit looks like the dinner you ate minutes before projectile vomiting.
Sardines have a buttery taste, probably because they contain more fat than tuna. Good fat. Omega-3 fat. The type of fat that’s supposed to help your eyes, your heart, and just about everything else you'd want food to help. And they contain less mercury.
Still, I can’t eat sardines without gagging. They’re shiny. Food shouldn’t shimmer. They smell, too. Worse than tuna. If your finger comes in contact with sardine water, you can either smell like sardines for the rest of your life, or you can amputate your finger. Don't burp after eating sardines unless you're alone in a closet, standing next to an open bottle of bleach.
Second,
Eat living sauerkraut.
Most sauerkraut is processed and stored at room temperature. This kind of sauerkraut is dead. Some sauerkraut isn't processed and needs to stay refrigerated. This kind of sauerkraut is alive; it contains good bacteria, which improves gut health.
Unfortunately, refrigerated sauerkraut costs 5x more than room-temperature stuff. This kills the ultra-thrift aspect of this lunch unless you make your own sauerkraut (easier than you think). Still, this meal isn't that expensive.
Can of sardines: $1-2
Bag of sauerkraut: $5
Assuming the bag lasts 3 days, your lunch costs $2-3. Throw in a banana (because in my house every meal must end on a sweet note) and you can't lose, especially if you're using Two Meal Muscle. A lunch like this will give you a nice mid-day nutritional pop with minimal caloric yield, leaving you with lots of wiggle room at the dinner table.
This is the definition of effortless fat loss.
May the Gains be with you,
Ant