"Cooking for yourself allows you to be strange or decadent or both," writes Jenni Ferrari-Adler in her introduction to Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant, a tasty little collection of confessions about cooking for one and dining solo.Released last year, the title of this intriguing anthology comes from an essay of the same name by the late writer Laurie Colwin, who got very resourceful with two gas burners and a bathtub when she was young, single and living in Greenwich Village.
“When I was alone, I lived on eggplant, the stove top cook’s strongest ally,” Colwin recalled. “I fried it and stewed it, and ate it crisp and sludgy, hot and cold. It was cheap and filling and delicious in all manner of strange combination.”
Colwin’s essay was the inspiration for Ferrari-Adler’s collection but the native New Yorker is no stranger to solo performances in the kitchen herself. She introduces the essays by sharing memories of her days living alone as a graduate student in Michigan where dinner would often be a lone potato boiled and sautéed in olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
Ferrari-Adler claims cooking alone fosters experimentation, impulsiveness and invention but many of the book’s 26 contributors – among them celebrated fiction writers, foodies and cookbook authors – seem to lean in the opposite direction – at least when feeding themselves. Many admit to favouring make-do, functional dinners over self-indulgent meals for one. They prefer to reserve their culinary creativity and passion for preparing food for others.
The collection confirmed my suspicions that even most creative souls can be the least imaginative when making a solo meal. Memories of canned goods, store bought pasta sauces, and junk food pepper the pages of this book. Ann Patchett, the acclaimed author of Bel Canto, remembers eating Saltines for dinner most nights while on a solitary writing fellowship in her 20s. Jeremy Jackson pens a long love letter to canned beans. Famed Japanese author Haruki Murakami recalls a surreal year of eating nothing but spaghetti.
But along with these confessions are more than a dozen useful recipes, tips and suggestions to try when by yourself. Ben Karlin shares his “legendary” recipe for Salsa Rosa. Marcella Hazan, who brought sophisticated Italian cuisine to America, offers a simple grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich for one. New York Times foodie columnist Amanda Hesser dishes up a serving of Single Girl Salmon.
Some of these shared culinary confidences are comic, some sexy, some sad. Phoebe Noble’s ode to spring asparagus is pure whimsy; Dan Charon’s chili quasi-hallucinogenic. Reading these essays is a bit like peeking through a kitchen door to watch people perform that most personal of acts – feeding oneself. Together, they leave the reader feeling just a bit voyeuristic, not to mention hungry.
Even if you don’t have a passion for food or solitude, this book is an insightful, worthwhile read, especially if you have nobody to talk to at dinner.
The collection confirmed my suspicions that even most creative souls can be the least imaginative when making a solo meal. Memories of canned goods, store bought pasta sauces, and junk food pepper the pages of this book. Ann Patchett, the acclaimed author of Bel Canto, remembers eating Saltines for dinner most nights while on a solitary writing fellowship in her 20s. Jeremy Jackson pens a long love letter to canned beans. Famed Japanese author Haruki Murakami recalls a surreal year of eating nothing but spaghetti.
But along with these confessions are more than a dozen useful recipes, tips and suggestions to try when by yourself. Ben Karlin shares his “legendary” recipe for Salsa Rosa. Marcella Hazan, who brought sophisticated Italian cuisine to America, offers a simple grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich for one. New York Times foodie columnist Amanda Hesser dishes up a serving of Single Girl Salmon.
Some of these shared culinary confidences are comic, some sexy, some sad. Phoebe Noble’s ode to spring asparagus is pure whimsy; Dan Charon’s chili quasi-hallucinogenic. Reading these essays is a bit like peeking through a kitchen door to watch people perform that most personal of acts – feeding oneself. Together, they leave the reader feeling just a bit voyeuristic, not to mention hungry.
Even if you don’t have a passion for food or solitude, this book is an insightful, worthwhile read, especially if you have nobody to talk to at dinner.
1 comment:
At my most alone, decadent and strange, I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches sprinkled liberally with M&M's (almonds) and washed down with a Shiraz or maybe two!:-)
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