Meal Prep Like A Boss With These 4 Easy Recipes

As an adult, it’s pretty cool being independent and living on your own and shit, but if you’re like me, there are certain moments when you totally crumble under the pressure.

Like for instance, when your clothes are super creased and there’s a thing called an iron but you aren’t entirely sure where to get one or how to use it so you keep hanging your clothes in the bathroom and taking hot showers in an attempt to steam out all the wrinkles.

Or when you’re applying for a credit card and the bank person on the phone asks you what kind of card you want but you just keep saying “Whatever you think is best…” because you legitimately don’t understand the difference between the hundred million credit card options on the market today.

While I don’t have much advice on the first two matters, I definitely have some tips on the whole feeding yourself thing. It’s called meal prep, people, and it’s basically every lazy cook’s sacred Sunday ritual.

Essentially you just make a shit ton of easy food to nosh on throughout the whole week. If you get a set of spiffy tupperwares, you can even take your food with you to places so you don’t have to eat out all the time. It’s kind of revolutionary.

Since you shouldn’t ever have to sacrifice taste for convenience, here are four easy meals to make today that’ll hook you up for the week, done in collaboration with Meal Prep On Fleek:

Chicken Tenders

It’s pretty impossible to go wrong with chicken breaded in parmesan and breadcrumbs. Luckily this recipe calls for green beans and tomatoes, so that if they ask, you can tell your friends you’re eating healthy. Although idk why you’d wanna be friends with people like that anyways.

Lemon Pasta

You know when a recipe starts out with butter and garlic, it’s gonna be a good one. Once they started adding the cheese and pasta I started feeling excitement in places besides just my stomach. Damnnnn son. This will definitely be the dopest meal to set foot in your kitchen.

Baked Frittata Bites

This one is perfection because it addresses our favorite yet most difficult-to-prepare meal of the day: breakfast. I’m not sure about you, but getting out of bed in the morning is hard enough. Sometimes breakfast is just out of the question. But if you prep for the week with these baked frittata bites, all you have to do is heat a few up in the morning and you’re good to go.

Apricot Chicken and Shrimp

Chinese takeout has been my saving grace on more occasions than one, but that shit gets expensive. Next time, whip up some sweet and sour chicken and shrimp, for the sake of double the protein, and both your wallet and stomach will thank you. All it takes is a few ingredients and only one pan so you don’t really have an excuse.

Hit-Or-Miss Tastemade/Snapchat

How I Crashed Into Adulthood With A Jameson On The Rocks



It took me forever to become a boozehound who’d order Jameson at bars. In my sloppy beginnings, I tiptoed around it so hard, you would’ve thought I was trying to sneak-attack liquor.

First, as a precocious teenager, I gained alcohol’s trust, sipping beers, downing shots reluctantly, and emptying wine coolers because…I don’t know, guys; what reasonable explanation is there, really?

Secondly, I learned alcohol’s customs, suddenly getting hellfire hammered on empty stomachs out of a nervous disposition. I finally worked up the courage to explore, as only a timid young lad can.

I drank weird sugar cocktails, dessert-esque concoctions that not even a gaggle of Real Housewives would take down or throw in a frenemy’s face. That lasted for a spell, until I found myself in college with my twenties begging me to change before I added even more hype as a weak-ass scrub to my nightlife résumé.

So I poured gasoline (cheap vodka) down my throat in parking lots, most notably fifths of Popov. I don’t remember enjoying it, and years later, I found out that none of us necessarily liked it. We all did it for the same reason: it was cheap and it got you drunk. Then, I drank beer that wasn’t terrible, though, admittedly, graduating from Miller Lite to Tecate (and ultimately to craft beer) isn’t exactly something to write home about. But who the hell writes home about drinking beer anyway?

Bursting to life at the gloriously unholy age of 21, I found my match at the bottom of a whiskey sour. I still don’t count them as my first grown-up drink, because I was more so getting away with an act, not really thriving with it as my lifeforce.

I didn’t sit in stylish bars and enjoy highballs. I showed up to dives half-drunk from a friend’s house where we either drank from a bottle or did shots beforehand. I thought I was drinking like an adult, but I wasn’t; I was just a much better poser.

That summer, I came to adore Irish whiskey. It became the nectar my proud Irish heritage always told me it was in ghost stories.

In truth, I suppose I always kind of liked whiskey, even when I was trying my best to “man up” in high school, but it just wasn’t enough. I’d do a shot, kind of dig the roll of its taste in my gums, then someone would ask if I wanted another, and I’d pass on it for dirty-water beer or some melted, Skittle-lookin’ beverage.

This is probably the darkest secret on my father’s side of the family. My goodness, the scandal!

But I finally had a “go-to” with Irish whiskey, Jameson specifically (still my favorite bottle). It was absolutely not, and it still isn’t, anything fancy (unless you get the aged, of course), but it became a drink that my friends would order for me if they were buying a round and didn’t catch what I said.

“I’ll have a Jameson on the rocks,” I’d say with confidence that year. To be honest, it was originally “a Jameson neat,” but I was getting drunk too quickly. I had the appreciation down, but I was still screwball with patience.

Jameson on the rocks was the first drink that I’d order on the regular where I was somewhere to converse, not rage. I wasn’t cackling, slurring, or, for whatever reason, continually yelling, “Woo!” I was there to experience the evening. I was there to offer something. I was there to just be. Nothing to prove, nothing to hope for: just a man, drinking a night away.