What We Eat When We Eat Alone - Deborah Madison [8]
SALT
A FEW DROPS VINEGAR, IF NEEDED
1 TABLESPOON OIL
1 POUND GROUND BEEF OR BISON
1⁄2 CUP OR MORE COOKED PINTO BEANS PER SERVING
A SMALL HANDFUL FRITOS OR TORTILLA CHIPS
GRATED CHEDDAR CHEESE
FINELY SLIVERED ROMAINE LETTUCE, 1 DICED TOMATO, CHOPPED CILANTRO, DICED ONION, AND PICKLED ONION RINGS OR SCALLIONS TO FINISH
1. Break the tops (stem end) off the chiles, tear them open, and shake out the seeds and discard. Put the chiles in a pot, cover with water, and bring to a boil. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes, then turn off the heat and let them stand another 10 minutes. Drain, then purée the chiles with 1-1⁄2 cups fresh water for at least 1 minute. Pass this through a strainer, press out all the liquid you can, and discard the debris. Season with 1⁄2 teaspoon salt. Taste the chile and, if it seems a little harsh, add a few drops of vinegar to soften it.
2. Heat the oil in a skillet and crumble in the meat. Cook over medium-low heat (especially if it’s grass-fed beef or bison, which tend to be lean) until the meat is just cooked. Season with salt. Pour in the chile (but not so much that it’s soupy) and taste. Add more salt if needed. Cook over low heat while you warm up the beans and prepare the fresh toppings.
3. Place the beans in a shallow, wide bowl. Add the Fritos or tortilla chips, then spoon over as much chili as you want, saving the rest for another meal. Scatter a little cheese over the top and then heap the lettuce, tomato, cilantro, and onion or scallions over all.
Foods for Me and Me Alone
“I cook a pot of white jasmine rice, then I scramble two eggs with salt and pepper. I stir the eggs into the hot rice, and then add a dollop of full fat Brown Cow yogurt with more salt. It’s weird but it’s comforting. I read while I’m eating and my dog curls up at my feet. This is a totally personal food—not one I’d share with anyone.”
Blake Spalding, Chef of Hell’s Backbone Grill
Greg O’Byrne, who runs the Santa Fe wine and Chile Fiesta, is not embarrassed to admit that he spoils himself on nights when he’s home alone. He doesn’t cook the mac and cheese he usually makes for his kids, but opens a bottle of wine, “maybe not a Grand Cru Burgundy, but a good bottle,” he says, and he fixes himself a thick steak au poivre. He’s likely to make his own pommes frites, too.
More frequently, though, foods intended for solo consumption tend to be modest, sometimes crude, and often downright bizarre. They’re very personal foods, that special category of edibles that are tailored by oneself for oneself, and they are not easily shared. They’re the foods that work for one individual in a deep and maybe even psychological way. Personal foods are likely to be those that simply gratify. They might have nourished us as children and now they feed us as adults, regardless of their content, because our body knows and remembers them.
Take Dru Sherrod, for example, a tall, elegant man with whom we’ve enjoyed many well-cooked meals and fine bottles of wine. Only the faintest trace of his Texas accent remains. Here was his response when we asked him what he eats when his partner, Arden, is out of town.
“Back in Dallas,” Dru says, sliding into his accent, “my mother used to serve me fried Spam with grape jelly. Well, after eschewing it for forty years, I’m beginning to find it a great comfort again. I throw slabs of Spam in a skillet. Thick units. No oil or butter or anything. Fry it on both sides. Slice some tomatoes. Spoon out cottage cheese. It’s salty, porky, strong, greasy, and delicious. A perfect meal.” And now he’s talking Texan.
Or consider Robert Brittan, a journeyman winemaker. We’re driving one morning over the winding roads of the coast range near Napa Valley, and he’s waving his arms madly as he answers our question. Fortunately he’s not the one behind the wheel.
“Fritos!” he cries. “Take chili-cheese-flavored Fritos, microwave them with grated cheese. Fantastic! Or, have them with chopped green tomatoes. Chopped, not sliced. Slicing is overrated—it implies