Our Favorite Struggle Meals That Were Actually Delicious

Everyone enjoys a good restaurant meal when financial abundance allows a reading of the menu from right to left, versus scanning the prices first. Yet, when times are tough and funds are low, a person still has to eat. In these moments of hunger when ordering Uber Eats or heading down to Whole Foods to fill a cart isn't in the cards, the struggle meal swoops in to save the day. 

What is a "struggle meal" exactly? Essentially, it's a dish assembled with minimal ingredients with the greater goal of filling bellies, rather than wowing the palate. This, of course, doesn't mean that a struggle meal can't taste good. Often times, it's those little tricks and extras that raise the most basic dish to a higher level of enjoyment and transform it into a person's own comfort food. 

The Takeout writers came together to share the struggle meals they grew up eating, what made them delicious, why they still look at these meals with a bit of nostalgia. 

As a child, I watched my Italian parents magically turn the simplest ingredients into the most satisfying meals. That's the loving art of "cucina povera," a traditional style of peasant cooking born out of making do with what you have. Italian cereal — or pane con latte — was one of my dad's specialties, made modestly in a saucepan with milk and leftover bread.

Pane con latte is not your cold, sugary, over-processed breakfast cereal. It's the perfect cozy, comfort food to make when you're feeling sad, sick, broke, or too tired to go to the store. There's no real recipe or precise measuring of anything involved. To make it, tear your bread into bite-sized chunks (a crusty baguette or Turano brand Italian is ideal, but a softer brioche or even sliced Wonder bread works). Next, add your milk to a pan, and gently heat until warm. Lastly, place the bread pieces in a bowl or giant mug, pour the warm milk over the top, and let the mixture soak for a minute or two.

Sometimes we top our pane con latte with a sprinkle of sugar or a swirl of leftover coffee. Other Italian families have their own variations flavored with honey, cocoa, or a drop of almond extract. However humble, pane con latte always makes everything better. This old-world farmers' breakfast has saved me on many cold Chicago mornings — and nights. It definitely counts as dinner.

My go-to struggle meal is something I've craved even in times of plenty: cinnamon sugar toast. Nearly everything you'll need is right in the name and preparation is pretty simple too. When my dad made this little treat for me as a kid, he would toast up some white bread, let it sit for a few moments to slightly cool, and than slather on Country Crock margarine spread. Then, he added a sprinkling of sugar followed by cinnamon. The waiting time after toasting is absolutely necessary because you need that butter (or margarine) to not immediately melt into the warm toasted bread. While there are cinnamon sugar premade mixtures out there, I've found that adding white sugar and cinnamon separately is much more enjoyable.

This warm, sweet, and comforting toast was my staple breakfast more mornings than I can count. As an adult, I've had it plenty as a snack or even late-night treat. Though I now prefer to make mine with fresh, homemade bread and my favorite butter, cinnamon sugar toast will forever be one of my favorite struggle meals, though I like to think of it as comfort food.

My parents never packaged SOS as a struggle meal: SOS was a standard dinner option that lil' me didn't necessarily associate with tough times. For anyone not in-the-know, it's chipped beef (Mom usually used ground beef), in a creamy sauce (which was usually a can of that good ol' standby, Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup, thickened into a peppery gravy), slathered on a piece of toast or two.

The idea goes back to the early 20th century, and it was a great way to feed the enlisted men who served in the World Wars. Affordable, filling, and while it's perhaps not the most appetizing-looking meal, it's pretty darn delicious. That's doubly true if we had it as a summertime meal. Add in sliced bell peppers, onions, peas, carrots, and/or green beans right out of the vegetable garden, and even better? The days that Mom happened to make a loaf of bread. The store-bought stuff couldn't hold a candle to her fresh-baked white bread, cut thick and turned into something like Texas toast.

To be fair, it's entirely possible that this tasted that much better because it was one of the only times I could get away with swearing. Nope, we never called it SOS, or Same Old Stuff ... and I do remember being delighted to tell Dad that Mom was making s*** on a shingle for dinner. It always got at least something akin to a laugh, and sure, maybe that's part of why I still love the stuff.

Being a kid in the 1970s was a fun time for food. Sugary cereals, huge candy bars, and unhealthy TV dinners were the norm. And best of all, they were cheap. So it's no wonder I took some of the meals from that time and brought them into my adult life, especially if my fridge and pantry aren't exactly stocked with variety.

One of my favorite struggle meals is a nice fried bologna sandwich — elevated with American cheese. This meal often came into play because my mother was a single mom and worked many hours when I was a kid. Between that and Chef Boyardee's spaghetti rings, my plate, tummy, and heart were always full.

Bologna was a refrigerator staple in my childhood home. It was cheap, easy to prepare and provided lots of protein for a growing boy. Often the main dish in my bag lunch for school, it wasn't exactly my favorite lunchtime option, but that changed one weekend when my mom fried it up in a pan. She melted the butter over medium heat and just plopped the bologna in the middle. It began to rise and sizzle. She flipped it over, got it slightly burnt on the other side, put it on white bread with a slice of American cheese and a slathering of French's mustard. Delicious.

It's now an honored heirloom recipe I still make in times of struggle.

According to family lore, my mother clipped a recipe out of a magazine sometime in the '70s for something called "Saturday Night Hot Dogs." Clearly intended to be a dollar-stretching dish that still seemed fun, the rest of my family absolutely hated them, so after my older siblings had moved out to college and my father was out of town on business, it was something my mother would make for the two of us. Twenty years after its origin point, it was still a remarkably cheap meal. "Saturday Night Hot Dogs" are deconstructed and reconstructed hot dogs, or something like a hot dog casserole on a bun.

It's very scalable, but to make one Saturday Night Hot Dog, you slice one cheap hot dog, dice up about an ounce of cheap cheddar cheese, and then grab a dill pickle (likely an old store brand jar in the back of the fridge) and then chop that up. In a bowl, mix with equal parts ketchup and mayonnaise and a just a hint of mustard. The whole gloopy mixture is spooned into a hot dog bun and then wrapped in foil and baked for 20 minutes or so. It's salty, cheesy, creamy, tangy, and about as inexpensive as a regular hot dog while feeling so much fancier.

Ettore "Hector" Boiardi's dishes at his Cleveland restaurant were such a hit, he eventually started a business to sell his goods so people could eat them at home. This led to the formation of what we now know as the Chef Boyardee brand, which helped popularize Italian food to Americans, kept soldiers nourished during WWII, and still makes mouths happy today.

As a kid, my mom often served me up a piping hot bowl of ravioli or Beefaroni, with a slice of untoasted, but buttered white bread, placed atop a placemat in the shape of Ernie from Sesame Street's face. As I grew up, I never grew out of my love for Chef Boyardee products, especially as it always worked well as a cheap, quick, and tasty meal.

While I was never a budding chef myself, that never stopped me from sprucing up my bowl with some key accouterments. While Chef Boyardee's Ravioli and Beefaroni certainly have enough pasta and tomato sauce inside the can, what it always lacked to really seal the deal was cheese. Shredded cheese is one's quick ticket to turn Boyardee's products into an amazing struggle meal. The key is to only add the shredded cheese in after removing the dish from the microwave. Toss in a liberal amount, and stir it around with your fork, and watch it become a stringy, molten mass of deliciousness. It's almost like a bootleg version of French onion soup or pasta chili mac. For those looking to take things to the next level, add a dash of garlic powder or salt, and you'll have a pasta dish that rivals anything served in Italy. Ernie placement optional, but highly recommended.