What We Eat When We Eat Alone - Deborah Madison [41]
This is the best part of the evening:
the food cooking, the armchair,
the book and bright flavor
of the chilled wine.
When the timer goes off
toss the salad
and prepare the vegetables
and the lamb. Bring them out
to the table. Light the candles
and pour the red wine
into your glass.
Before you begin to eat,
raise your glass in honor
of yourself.
The company is the best you’ll ever have.
—Daniel Halpern
from Selected Poems © Daniel Halpern
Alone at Last
“Basically, it’s about comforting carbs and good salt.”
Amelia Saltsman, cook and food writer
Women (and some men) who are tired of cooking for those ingrates called children and the occasional spouse, who are weary of cleaning up after meals and bored with eating on a schedule that says it’s dinnertime when really it’s time for something else, know the pleasure of being alone at last in one’s kitchen. It’s an enjoyable moment when we get to eat whatever and whenever we want—and wherever, too, for that matter.
Like staring into a closet filled with clothes and finding nothing to wear, sometimes we gaze into our refrigerators and whether they’re double Sub-Zeros or tiny under-the-counter numbers, we find nothing to eat. Sometimes there is nothing to eat. I have seen women’s refrigerators with little more than bottles of water, some cartons of restaurant remains, and ice cream in the freezer. Others may have food in them, but it can appear useless unless, of course, we have the eye to pick out those bits and pieces that can eventually become a frittata, a salad, or a more-than-decent sandwich. After all, we do need to feed ourselves something more substantial, not to mention ceremonial, than Sad Girl’s Macaroni and Cheese, which, I’ve recently been told, consists of boiled spaghetti with pregrated Parm sprinkled on top. At the very least, it helps to be ready for those times we’re alone with a modestly well-stocked refrigerator and cupboard, that at least contain eggs, some canned tomatoes, bread or cereal, perhaps, and a few good vegetables.
When it comes to the rare night alone, women can get pretty basic and simply go for the leftovers. Says one food writer, “I often make a salad and just throw in whatever form of protein I’m having. And if I have a pot of soup or stew hanging around, I’ll have that, and that’s just fine.”
But there are those who disdain leftovers, thus depriving themselves of that time-honored meal option. They will never take the uneaten half of their meal home from a restaurant, nor stash that bit of whatever remains from dinner into a container for later. This means that each time they want to eat, they have to start from scratch.
Some women simply dislike the challenge of cooking for themselves. “How am I going to cut up half a carrot?” one asks me, her voice practically caustic with frustration at something so unreasonable as this. “And what am I supposed to do with the other half?”
Sometimes the no-leftovers and don’t-like-to-cook-for-one people are the same. If you’re in the camp that likes leftovers, you’ll probably just cut up the whole carrot, eat half, and worry no more. These are questions that those of us who are leftover eaters can’t imagine asking, but they are vivid and troubling for others.
Sandwiches were the solution to this set of problems for one woman—not making them, mind you, but going to the deli and getting either a half if she has just a normal appetite, or, if she’s really hungry, a whole sandwich to take home. Here was a parcel of food she could enjoy by herself without fear of leftovers.
Some women admit that when they are finally alone they revert to those personal foods that are too odd to share—the cookie dough, the saltines crushed into a glass of milk. “It’s comforting,” says the author of that last idea, and when comfort is needed, women don’t mind admitting it. Others might turn to the infamous bowl of cereal or microwaved popcorn for dinner. Relying on such insta-foods, cobbling dinner out of leftovers, or dining on a piece of toast smeared with peanut butter doesn’t necessarily