Hello, hungry, how is this incredibly un-jolly month treating you?
January is always inexorably attached to the idea of rebalancing, of equilibrium-ing our disparate parts, of reconnecting our connective tissues. I appreciate many of us are looking inward at spiritual change, working through the levels of an app in search of psychological catharsis, a few spoonfuls of self-help syrup away from mental nirvana. Some of us are digitally detoxing, avoiding screens like King Charles avoids hand pics. (If that’s you, thanks for printing this story out.) There’s always the annual impetus to get bigger or get smaller. You’re noting portions sizes, counting carbs, standing in the corner and saying no to refined sugar like the ending of The Blair Witch Project. Or, perhaps rather than going home (hungry), you’ve gone large—becoming the Bruce Bogtrotter of energy bars, with gym weights your main confidante, thinking, Is it me, or is that XL Bully kinda ripped?
Today I find myself halfway down a green juice, my face an inch thick with serum, still scrolling Golden Globe pics (honorable mention to Ayo’s Prada). One of the lasting Globes images is that of best-actor-in-a-comedy-or-musical-winner Paul Giamatti enjoying post-event In-N-Out burger, his awarded trophy protruding through a thicket of fries. I’m thrilled he won the award, and his tux looks great, but—sorry to this man—the burger looks better. Now that we’ve reached the monthly mid-point, knee-deep in the draining resolution reservoir, I can’t help but think…Couldn’t we all use a burger?
Despite what you’ve heard, nothing tastes as good as following your desire feels. I know we agreed to new year, new me, but what if the old you wants an enchanting snack? What if your body needs a perfect patty—plant-based, if necessary? (I don’t have a problem with Veganuary.) What if your body wasn’t built for ketosis, calling instead for a lightly grilled brioche bun? Medallions of pickle? Cheese in squares? What is the bleak midwinter without a little sauce, a little sautéed onion, a little supersizing. Sometimes the body is screeching out for a hyper-processed hot sandwich that either shoots through you like a bullet, or bungs you up for days. What is life without that extra shake of salt, a crisp rasher of bacon, a sneaky egg? Who among us can honestly resist the allure of the January burger?
I get it. We’re conditioned—especially at this time of year—to self-inspect and self-improve in order to self-actualize. We’re often paying disproportionate penance for overindulging, for too many holiday “treats,” for not enough holiday “health.” I get that January feels like an annual reset, but why are we always resetting to someone slimmer or leaner? It’s exhausting and boring and time-consuming. I don’t know what your resolutions were, but maybe we could all lighten up? Just loosen the reins on the galloping horse of restriction? Consider mainlining something that doesn’t feature on the diet plan. I know excess is always ultimately corrosive, but I assure you there’s space for a quick burger on the way home.