i arrived home from melbourne to find a flurry of delivery notices on the doormat. the fedex man had been while we were gone, thrice in the week, each time leaving another official bit of card saying, “we were here, you were not”, with the final one adding rather threateningly, “we will be returning the package to sender”.
but i called them up on monday and grovelled a little bit, and a couple days later, my parcel showed up, from the good folk at penguin: a handsome hardcover called, “alone in the kitchen with an eggplant: confessions of cooking for one and dining alone” (edited by jenni ferrari-ader).
“look!” i said to the boy, “people send me books now, because i am media!”
“you mean, because you have a blog?”
“yes?”
“that’s ridiculous,” he said.
which maybe it is, a little. after all, i mean, who am i?
well, never mind me. here is a collection of 26 essays, personal stories from an eclectic mix of writers including amanda hesser (food editor of the new york times magazine), nora ephron (chickflick writer), haruki murakami (tedious postmodern novelist), and steve almond (whose book “candyfreak” — a brief history of regional american candy — i am also currently in the middle of). i am reading them as the editor intended — in order — and a handful of chapters in, have encountered someone who ate asparagus every day for two months, someone who was happy to subsist on crackers:
…most nights i did not feel fancy at all. i ate slices of white cheese on saltines with a dollop of salsa, then smoothly transitioned to saltines spread with butter and jam for dessert. i would eat as many as were required to no longer be hungry and then i would stop.
– ann patchett
…someone who relied on black beans throughout grad school, someone — at last — who didn’t make eating at home alone seem quite so dire:
my home-alone dinners are often composed of one or two flavours, prepared in a way that underlines their best qualities. eggs are high on the list. i rarely eat breakfast but i adore eggs and there are very few opportunities to eat them at other times of the day. so i might poach one and lay it on a nest of peppery or bitter greens. i might toss a poached egg with pasta, steamed spinach and good olive oil, and shower it with freshly-grated nutmeg and cheese. or, i might press a hard boiled egg through a sieve and sprinkle the fluffy egg curds over asparagus. – amanda hesser
which is the way it should be, no? when else are you going to get the chance to cook exactly what you want to eat, without having to take into consideration anyone else’s particularities? the week i had to myself, that week boy and kid were away, i made spaghetti with shredded brussels sprouts sauteed in rocket pesto, and a tofu green curry with as many green vegetables as i could pack in. i’m sure i would’ve made several more meat-free, veggie-packed things, but i also had to fit in some leisurely solo cafe meals, a vegetarian dinner at BBQ king — it can be done!, and adriano zumbo, three times.
this is a book about how food fits into people’s lives. there are no glossy photographs of tasteful little dinners and convenient lunches, but there are recipes now and again, for such things as roasted beet and cucumber salad with ricotta salata, truffled egg toast, kippers mash, yellowfin tuna with heirloom tomatoes and oil-cured olive and caper salsa. see, it doesn’t all have to be about drinking your lonely way through a giant pot of soup.
though it could be, if you wanted it so. it’s not so horrible to eat alone, is it? don’t you? (and what do you eat? tell me. tell me!)
and that is why this book is such an enjoyable read: all those dirty little dietary secrets. and, ok, all the moments of glorious self-discovery. it’s like reading food blogs! at its best, it’s like reading orangette.
i am looking forward to the penultimate chapter, “instant noodles” by rattawut lapcharoensap, because actually, that is one of the things i like to eat best, when i have the pleasure — the luxury — of being home alone.
