By Dane Feldman
Additional Contributors: Molly Freeman, Jess Goulart, Veronica Chavez, Tanya Silverman.
Here in America, we party hard on Independence Day, especially when it falls on a Saturday.
For those of you who drank a little too much yesterday and woke up feeling completely out of commission, we’re here for you. We know what it’s like and we’re sharing our personal experiences and our favorite cures for the common hangover.
Photo by Molly Freeman.
When I was in college, it was enough to grab some Pop-Tarts (Brown Sugar Cinnamon) and Gatorade (Frost Glacier Freeze) and head to class when I was hungover, but now that I’m older it takes a bit more to get me feeling like a human being again.
Mostly, the adult version of a hangover cure includes dragging myself out of bed to lay on the couch until I feel more hungry than nauseous. Then I start off with some water, maybe a cup of coffee, and eat some greasy food–maybe a bacon and egg sandwich, maybe some chicken fingers.
Still, despite my careful eating while hungover, I’m likely couch-ridden for the entire day, which isn’t too bad since it gives me a chance to put my Netflix account (that I don’t mooch from anyone because I am an adult) to good use.
I’m a bit hesitant to share this cure with the world because it paints a pretty pathetic picture, but in the interest of saving someone from a day spent snuggled around their toilet bowl here goes.
When I am at my most hungover there is only one thing to do: crawl into the shower and sit under the jet of hot water for as long as it lasts…
…while eating a burger.
Yes, that’s right, I said it, lay in your shower and eat the living hell out of the greasiest, cheesiest, bacon-iest burger available to you (delivery only people, if you’re in this state do the world a favor and don’t leave your house). It may not be the most graceful meal you’ve ever had, there may be soggy lettuce floating ’round your feet and ketchup smeared on the sides of the tub (true story), but MAN does it do the trick.
If you’re not feeling up to the burger big leagues, amateurs can substitute with a steaming mug of beef bullion broth. The salt will get those electrolytes going, and the heat will sooth your stomach.
Further tip: avoid this slightly embarrassing situation all together and chase your drinks on a big night out with water and pickles–not in the same glass, though, don’t be gross. That’s how they do it in Russia and everyone knows no Russian has ever had a hangover.
Hungover mornings all usually begin the same for me. More often than not I’m in the same clothes I went out in, I have several water bottles strewn across my bed, and I just spent the majority of my REM cycle dreaming of food.
For me, food is the only hangover cure. In fact, I usually begin dreaming of my delicious carb-y relief before the buzz has even worn off. Whether it’s a heaping breakfast platter, a greasy sandwich, or a hearty bowl of spaghetti, I know that the moment I wake up I’ll be reaching for my laptop to order from Seamless.
Once my order is placed, the longest period of time ever begins: the wait for my food to arrive. I’ll usually nap during this time, jumping up like a puppy whose owner just got home when I finally hear the ding of the doorbell.
Oddly enough, once my food is finally in front of me, I can usually only take a few bites before needing to lay back down. Having food around me while I’m hungover turns out to be more of a psychological relief than physical. I’ll take another nap at this point, easing calmly back into slumber reassured that food will be waiting for me the moment I wake up.
Photo by Tanya Silverman.
It was a whimsical Friday night. Dirtbombs frontman Mick Collins DJ’ed at Home Sweet Home, a Lower East Side club, delivering the grooviest of ’70s soul and wiliest of ’60s rock. Sipping a few bourbons on rocks erased any apprehensions I held about sliding, spinning, or swerving around the dance floor.
It made a hellish Saturday morning. The irritating alarm rang at 9 am, and my friends were coming to pick me up at 10 am to drive to the mountains for a day hike. Headache pangs pulsed; I forced myself to down a liter of water and pop two ibuprofen pills before their punctual pickup. A nauseous drive entailed around city ramps, across the George Washington Bridge, and through the greenery of the Palisades Parkway.
Because I had to guide everyone into and around the forested rails of Harriman State Park, there was no time to sulk about my physical misery. I channeled all my energy and concentration into trekking hilly paths, hopping stones to cross streams, and scrambling my way up and down rocks, all while (poorly) making sense of the trail map’s routes.
In the end, exerting myself to sweat the booze out proved more successful at battling my ugly hangover than holing up in a stuffy bedroom.
During my junior and senior years of college, my first instinct was typically to load up on liquids. If I could get out of bed (surprisingly, I usually could), I would plop into my car and drive around the corner to Cumberland Farms where I’d stand in front of the refrigerators for minutes on end.
Eventually, I’d settle on a bottle each of Powerade Zero, water, Gatorade, and Coke Zero. Then, army of drinks in hand, I’d grab the biggest iced coffee I could find regardless of the weather, bring it all back to my apartment, settle into my couch, and drink every last ounce.
Frankly, aside from time, the only thing I’ve ever found to truly work is to flush it all out and hydrate. These days, when I’m really feeling out of it, I take my beverages into the shower. Of course, a greasy breakfast sandwich (or maybe even Jess’ shower burger) wouldn’t hurt.
Pop-Tarts is a registered trademark of Kellogg Company.