What We Eat When We Eat Alone - Deborah Madison [5]
There is an underlying current that hints at self-deprecation when eating alone, particularly among women who, far more frequently than men, admit that when it’s just them they’re feeding they don’t feel that they deserve the effort they’d expend for another.
“I’d like to say that I spend the afternoon preparing a flavorful, tender braise for myself,” writes one woman,“but in truth, I’d never spend my time and effort for my own gratification. That degree of commitment is reserved for meals to be shared.”
One man admitted that it was just too hard to work up enough enthusiasm for his own meals to even bother, and another, my dentist, says flatly, “It’s just not worth eating when I’m alone.” Still there’s the cop who, between hotdog dinners, makes a vat of Bolognese sauce, taking no shortcuts to do so, or the farmer who comes to the end of his day with a harvest of vegetables that becomes his ratatouille—both good, self-respecting approaches.
When it comes to where we eat, what most men revealed was right in line with clichéd expectations—they do eat in such places as over the sink, in front of the fridge, while pacing around, and even lying on the couch. Of course there are also plenty of civilized men who eat at tables or seated in armchairs. Women also confessed to eating at the stove or leaning against the counter, and one woman described tearing apart a roasted chicken with such gusto while leaning over the sink that it was just about frightening!
Men, however, don’t eat on the bed, or in it, while the bed seems to be a permissible dining area for women. Nor do men curl up with a cup of cocoa on the couch, and they don’t tend to qualify their answers the way women do. Most of the women we spoke with discussed their areas of degustation with such qualitative words as never and always. “I always eat at the table. I would never eat in bed. I never watch television; I never watch for more than an hour; I only watch the news and that while sitting on the edge of the bed.”
A man wouldn’t say things like that. Funny. They just eat where they wish. End of story.
When it comes to shopping, it looks like men hunt and women gather. Other couples share our experience. When I casually say to Patrick, “Why don’t you pick out some vegetables that look good to you while you’re at the market,” he blanches, as if I’ve asked him to do something that’s painfully difficult. We’ve talked about this. I know he has his favorite vegetables that I forget to buy, like spinach, but cruising the produce aisle is not a pleasing notion for him. “I dread having to go over to the vegetable counter and study all those options,” he says. “I just want to get in and get out.” He seldom comes home with impulse items other than a bottle of wine.
I, on the other hand, and most women I know, if we’re not in a serious rush, tend to stroll through the market and consider what we see, deciding as we go what we want to eat and what we want to cook, or what special treat those we are cooking for might like. We may be sparked by something new, inspired by something that looks especially fresh, or curious about pursuing a new recipe. Or maybe we just have some little craving to satisfy. Certainly we almost always buy more than whatever is on our list, that is, if we have a list.
One last thought before we go on to some recipes suitable for men or women eating alone. In researching this book, we noticed that men and women tend to differ when it comes to the language of cooking. In the process of revealing the culinary underbelly of friends and strangers, we discovered that men predictably use a pretty aggressive vocabulary when describing their kitchen actions. They slam tortillas into skillets, break up stuff, smash foods, and stick them in whatever, the last verb being a favorite. Women, we found, tend to dice, sprinkle, and stir until a certain thing happens. They’re generally more civilized. They cook. Never do they “take some vegetable and stick it in some pasta.” But then again, I just read the words of a gorgeous woman featured in Esquire