A few months ago, I found myself stuck in to Deborah Madison’s What We Eat When We Eat Alone.
The content of the book is pretty self-explanatory and provides hours of entertainment when combined with the illustrations done by Madison’s husband.
It came as no surprise that even the most sophisticated people have quiet, private quirks that they share with nobody else; such as standing over the sink eating frito pie, as one woman in the book was known to do. Coincidentally, it was also the first time I came across the sheer oddity that is a frito pie, and I’m still not quite sure how I feel about it.
Sometimes it came down to the simple fact that people indulged in foods that their spouses didn’t like while on their own, but more often than not an overwhelming number expressed (in one way or another) their feelings about the comparative value of cooking for only yourself. Admittedly, when the Everyman was away on a business trip a few months ago, not only did my meals become stripped down and simpler, but most (if not all) of them included fish, shellfish or sushi because they are all things that he doesn’t like. In that regard, I get it.
But what I don’t understand is the propensity for people to feel that their own nourishment is not “worth it” and there were a whole slew of stories in the book to that effect. Before the Everyman and I lived together, I lived on my own for quite a few years, but living solo was never a good enough excuse not to cook for myself. At the time I had a lot of friends who also lived alone and instead of cooking, they spent a great deal of time and money on takeaways or Subway sandwiches.
Why is it that the number of guests coming to the dinner table makes us more likely to cook? Logistically speaking, you’d think that it would be easier and less effort to cook for 2 than it is for 6, but for whatever reason, many are more inclined to let someone else do the work when those dinner numbers dwindle. In a sense it says to me that we almost don’t feel that our alone selves are worthy of the care that we lavish on others. On the other hand, it’s possible that many of us have lost the connection to knowing how to cook, too. My own mother in law has confessed to me that she’ll often invite others over for dinner just so that she feels more obliged to cook than when it’s just the 2 of them. In her case, she finds that she cooks much less since her children have left home. Conversely, I much prefer cooking for the Everyman and I than cooking for company because I find the more plates that are added to the table increases my stress level about the meal. But, different strokes for different folks, I guess.
What do you think? How do you cook when you’re all alone? Are there any foods that you’ll only eat when nobody else is watching?
Until next time…
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My mother was the same, feeling a lot less incentive to cook when she was on her own.
Like you, I find this puzzling. I guess it’s cause I like to cook, I like the flavors, textures, and smells of food, it’s an important, creative, and relaxing part of my day, and so it’s hard to imagine giving it up just because I’m cooking for one.
I’m not sure there’s any pattern to what I make on the rare occasions when I’m eating alone. Sometimes, like you, I’ll just make something very simple: a grilled steak, a bean soup, a stir fry. Other times, I’ll seize it as an opportunity to try something more challenging, complicated, and time-consuming, because I don’t have to worry about getting dinner on the table by a certain time.
As for the idea of food that you’ll only eat when nobody is watching – secret food or even dirty, little secret food – that’s a mystery to me!