One thing about me that will never be very New Yorker-ish? My eating habits.
No, I’m not choosing this moment to air my grievances with the freakish amount of emaciated people walking the streets; I’m referring to the logistics of eating.
Namely, everyone here eats at the weirdest hours.
For one, they skip breakfast. Countless health professionals have stated without a shadow of a doubt that this is bad. Plus, I’m one of those weird people who is actually hungry when she wakes up. So sue me.
For another, they go HOURS between meals. After skipping breakfast, they won’t eat lunch until two or three. Then they won’t eat dinner until nine or ten.
Um, hello? Lunch is at noon. Maybe one. Dinner happens around 6:30 or 7:00. These are rules. They are in place because they work.
Plus, what about the five-small-meals rule? Or at the very least, a snack? I like snacks. Snacks keep me from becoming the ravenous animal who will eat anything at lightening speeds. And I’m not talking about ho-hos or Pop-tarts or something (although, sure, if it happens it happens), I mean like vegetables and fruit and stuff that is actually good for you. I’m just saying, snacks are a good thing. i embrace snacks. New Yorkers? Not so much.
And I’m all about late eating. Trust me. (If you don’t trust me, ask Susan. It was the first thing that brought us together and bonded us for life.) But if I have to wait until nine to eat dinner sans snacks?
It’s going to get ugly.
You guys KNOW I like food, so this probably isn’t a surprise. I’m just saying (and I’m looking at you, Manhattan), I’ll wear black and ride the subway and complain about Jersey, but I will also eat. And snack. Regularly.
Deal with it.