What We Eat When We Eat Alone - Deborah Madison [46]
As with men, women will cook things when they’re alone that their husbands don’t like. “Kidneys!” whispers Martha Rose, imitating her stepmother’s breathless excitement at the thought of indulging in a favorite food disliked by her husband. “When Max goes out, I make myself kidneys!”
And then, there’s the repetitive menu. Nancy Coonridge, who produces a fine goat cheese near Pie Town, New Mexico, says, “When I’m alone I eat organic chevron (goat meat), ground and topped with my organic goat cheese. I have that with a big glass of my organic raw goat milk. If my gardens are producing, I might have a salad with lettuce. Gee, if I could just grow a decent tomato, I would always have the perfect meal on hand.”
This triple goat menu punctuated with salad is not that strange to those who raise food for a living. Mas Masamoto, on occasion, has also eaten from a limited menu based on what he grows, namely peaches and raisins. “Some of my worst habits come when I’m alone,” he confesses, “and I slip into a creative mode, abusing myself by eating as a second act. I’ve had peach dinners some nights. That’s it, just peaches. Grapes when in season with a dessert of raisins. Sometimes I’ll add variety and eat apples and peaches and raisins. I’ve gotten some fairly intense stomachaches with all-fruit meals. But what’s better than eating your own homegrown food?” Mas ponders before adding, “I suppose it would be healthier if I grew more variety on the farm.”
And finally, there are those who turn to vegetables when dining alone. Many years ago an Australian friend told me the dish she made when she was at last home alone was canned tomatoes stewed in a little cream and spooned over toast. She said that it provided a soothing kind of nourishment. At the time I thought it was some odd Australian thing, but others have brought up stewed tomatoes as well. If you squint, it is just a few steps away from papa al pomodoro and even closer perhaps to those wonderful soft, sweet tomato-and-bread pudding casseroles you find in cafeterias in the South.
Rosalind Cummins, a woman who, among other things, has made a solar gingerbread house, goes for tomatoes on toast for dinner. “Tomatoes sautéed in butter and served on toast with basil,” she says. “Really, anything with tomatoes. And mushrooms on toast are good too.” After Roz brought up tomatoes on toast, I gave them a try and now they’ve become my solo lunchtime staple—so easy, and warm in winter too.
When Roz was growing up, her family ate mushrooms on toast with a little bit of sherry on top. “I didn’t know that other families didn’t all have ‘sherry shakers’ on the table,” she recalls. “I distinguished myself by asking for some sherry for my mushrooms at a friend’s house. I guess I was destined to become a food writer.”
Vegetables on toast, or supper sandwiches, as I call them, are one of my favorite solo dinners when I do cook. Basically, these are larger than usual bruschetta. Like Roz, I’m happy with just about any braised or sautéed vegetable piled over toast that’s been brushed with olive oil and rubbed with garlic. The final touch is a shaving of cheese—a nice young or aged Asiago, a goat Gouda, or, in truth, whatever cheese happens to be around. The cheese melts into the vegetables and gives them that extra punch of flavor. It’s a sandwich, in that bread is involved, but it’s also a knife-and-fork food, which makes it that much more civilized, more of a sit-down meal.
While women, more often then men, find being in their kitchens when their families are away an experience that comes with a measure of relief, roles can be reversed. Take Pete Jensen, for example. “I can’t believe you