What We Eat When We Eat Alone Part 1

What We Eat When We Eat Alone.

Deborah Madison.

and Patrick McFarlin.

This book is dedicated to all who find themselves alone at the table.

May your solitary meals be delicious and the company just as good.

What We Eat When We Eat Alone.

"It seems to me that eating alone is about having something satisfying, like all corn and tomatoes, without having to follow the rules the way you do when you have to consider someone else. Though I suppose that if I ate alone all the time, I'd be the opposite, making swell little meals in a committed way."

Fran McCullough, cookbook author.

For a number of years we traveled frequently to Mediterranean countries at the invitation of Oldways Preservation and Trust. During these eye-opening-and mouth-opening-journeys, we met many producers and tasted their olive oils, wine, ouzo, breads, cheeses, and countless other foods made according to ancient ways. There were enough chefs, importers, scholars, and food writers to fill a couple of buses on each of these trips, and inevitably there were long rides across dry lands that afforded hours for conversation. On one of those trips, artist Patrick McFarlin found his amus.e.m.e.nt not in watching a blindfolded camel in a Tunisian village pulling a stone over rancid olives to press a very singular-tasting oil, but in asking people what they cooked for themselves when they ate alone.

"I started to inquire into the habits of other people's private culinary lives on these trips," Patrick explains."The research was entirely unscientific. I simply asked people about their behind-closed-doors food practices. Some were ordinary, some quirky, and others credible and civilized."

People rolled into Patrick's research inquiries as if they were on an afternoon televised expose-throwing open the secrets of their cloistered cupboards and refrigerators.

The stories people had stashed up their sleeves were so surprising that we continued asking others on a regular basis what they eat when they eat alone-and writing down their answers. What emerged is a portrait of human behavior sprung free from conventions, a secret life of consumption born out of the temporary freedom-or burden, for some-of being alone. There are foods that are so utterly idiosyncratic that they would never, ever, be shared with another, and there are some very ambitious undertakings. "I pour sardine juice onto cottage cheese while standing on one foot in front of the refrigerator, not putting down the other foot because there's been a meat leak from the vegetable drawer," said one shamelessly, while another admitted to eating while lying on the couch with a newspaper spread over the chest to catch any drips. But there are lots of meals cobbled together during football halftimes that have real possibilities, dishes that can be worked into recipes for tasty and fairly easy-to-make everyday kinds of foods.

Even after our travels, people have continued to speak to us with enthusiasm and candor about their exploits in the realm of cooking for one. Their revelations have made us see how many possibilities there are for feeding ourselves, possibilities that lie well outside the borders of what usually pa.s.ses for normal, let alone "right." When we eat alone we often break all the rules surrounding not only what to eat but when to eat and even where. And this is true regardless of what we know about cooking or about what makes a proper meal. As writer Fran McCullough says, solo meals can be all corn and tomatoes if that's what you like. Solo meals are different, surprising, and they can also be funny, but sometimes predictable.

Some men cook exceptionally well for themselves-roasting meats, opening fine bottles of wine as well as a book, and enjoying their own company, while others are happy eating a sandwich at the kitchen counter. Women, who especially enjoy being liberated from the routine of cooking for others, often see solo dining as an opportunity to eat not only what they want ("a bowl of oatmeal with fleur de sel" says one who is otherwise quite a sophisticated cook), but whenever and wherever. Do we eat on the couch or set a proper place for ourselves? Sip soup at our computers or wander around talking on the phone while eating? We do all of these things and more when there's no one watching and expecting us to do otherwise.

There's tremendous variety in the foods we turn to when we're alone-snacks, old standbys, adventurous dishes, expensive cuts of meat, or the single vegetable menu. But regardless of the particulars, the minute we include even one other person at the table, everything changes. Our cooking can become more joyful and exuberant, or it can become freighted with such things as the hope of seduction, intentions to nourish, annoyance about having to cook or clean up, and all the other emotions, good and less so, a.s.sociated with cooking and feeding others.

What We Eat When We Eat Alone is hardly meant to be a definitive study of human behavior. Rather, we've simply been chatting with friends and strangers about the art-or ch.o.r.e-of feeding ourselves. The solo eating we're thinking about doesn't have to do with das.h.i.+ng bachelors and martini suppers, but with any of us who take meals alone, who have times when we cook and eat without another person in mind. We have interviewed people who share our worlds-other cooks, farmers, artists, writers-as well as random others we've sat next to at a concert or on a bus to the airport, our friends' elderly parents or their twenty-year-olds, for age is no barrier to the need for the occasional solo meal.

About the Recipes.

After cooking many of the dishes people said they made for themselves-and taking some liberties with them-we've concluded that what most people want is to be involved in preparing their meals, but to a limited extent only. And this is true whether they are food professionals or work at something else entirely. While some true food maniacs are delighted to spend a few hours making sausage for themselves or boning and stuffing a chicken, most of us want a much smaller investment of time when it comes to dinner. We're simply not going to make lasagna from scratch, as appealing as homemade lasagna might be, but we will happily wash, chop, and cook something-as long as it doesn't go on too long. And it's quite impressive what you can accomplish in a short time without resorting to frozen or processed foods, microwaves, or takeout. After all, when it's just for one person, not four or six, there's that much less to do.

Cooking for one, it turns out, is a lot of fun, because recipes suggest rather than dictate, and that's because cooking for oneself is really about cooking by eye, deciding how much of this or that ingredient pleases you, or if you want to build in leftovers or not. We suspect that if you want to undertake a particular dish using special ingredients and techniques and all, you will go to a reliable cookbook to find out how. But here, measurements need not always be exact and the success of a recipe doesn't depend on too much precision or adherence to someone else's standards. More than ever, the specific shapes these recipes take ultimately depend on your likes, dislikes, and the state of your pantry.

Think about short pasta with cauliflower for example. You might ask yourself, for starters, do you love, or even like, cauliflower? Do you want only a small amount of pasta in proportion to the vegetable or the other way around? Do you eat like a bird or feed like a lion? Avoid oil or embrace it? I happen to love a lot of cauliflower and want just a few noodles for textural contrast when I make this dish, but you might want a full 4-ounce serving of pasta decorated with just a few cauliflower tidbits. Both are entirely legitimate approaches, and when you're alone in your kitchen, there's no need to explain or defend the choices you've made.

A friend who read our ma.n.u.script early on scrawled at the bottom of one chapter,"All these recipes are Southwestern!" And although we live in New Mexico, this has pretty much nothing to do with the preponderance of such recipes in the book. It surprised us, too, how often people turned to some combination of chiles, tortillas, salsa, and cheese as solutions to what to eat when alone. It's as if these are the new American foods and flavors, and particularly satisfying ones at that. And they have little to do with where one lives. Minnesota, Was.h.i.+ngton, New York, California-the Southwest is everywhere.

We were also stuck by how many times people called for "good olive oil." In a way this wasn't too surprising since quite a few of those Patrick interviewed originally were on these trips to countries where olive oil plays a major role. But others called for good olive oil too. It's clear that something has s.h.i.+fted in our food culture, that you can live in Arkansas and never have been to Italy and still be sure you're going to cook only with "good olive oil."

Good olive oil aside, we've given a lot of these idiosyncratic meals and menus a try. Of course there are those down and dirty dishes that can't be translated or shared but that do horrify and amuse, but then there are some solo eating practices that can, with a twist here and a knock there, be turned into quite usable recipes. Finally, there are quite a few dishes that are really very good and definitely worthy of a recipe, and we want to share the best ones with you. Who can, after all, argue with the goodness of a meal consisting of a roast leg of lamb and a bottle of old-vine Zinfandel? Why, a vegetarian, of course! But what vegetarian can argue with warm polenta smothered with wild mushrooms or braised greens?

Everyone eats alone at one time or another. There are those periods of solo eating that ensue when we're young and out in the world for the first time, again when we're old, and sometimes during the years in between when we find ourselves without a partner to eat with. But during those years that we are living with partners and children, there are also invariably times when we find ourselves eating alone, cooking for just ourselves and no one else. It may be only for a single day, perhaps a weekend, or possibly a week or more that we'll find ourselves no longer constrained by what others expect for dinner or what time it should take place.

Whenever these moments occur and however long they last, they present us with the opportunity to keep our own best company.

Eating in Bed.

When it comes to where we eat, the bed is a zone that's highly frowned upon but also indulged. On the bed is permissible, but never in bed, insist more than a few women.

"The thought of eating in bed is sort of creepy," muses Maureen Callahan, "but that might have something to do with growing up in Florida. The thought of those big bugs marching up for a crumb or two . . . ooh! It gives me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s!"

Then again, there are exceptions. Another woman says, "I make a tray of cold, sliced chicken breast, fruit, and cheese, take it to bed, and get right under the covers. I read, the cat purrs, and we're both happy. I love this time to myself."

The Gestalt of Eating.

Men and Women at the Table.

"This is a virtual world war of food and drink!"

Milton Glaser.

At a graphic arts workshop held at the New York School for Visual Arts in the early eighties, long before our first trip to Spain with a group of writers and chefs, Patrick was introduced to the gestalt of eating. An unlikely place, you might be thinking. "But," Patrick says, "considering the workshop was taught by Milton Glaser, a whole-systems kind of guy, it makes sense. In a letter inviting us to New York, he outlined the following a.s.signment: The week preceding the cla.s.s, I'd like you to keep an exact record of everything you eat and drink, including size of portion and time eaten. Organize this information on an 8-12 x 11-inch sheet(s) of paper without signing or indicating in any way your authors.h.i.+p. Keep it with you in cla.s.s. At one point I'll ask for it.

"On the third day, Glaser collected all the a.s.signments, shuffled them, and pa.s.sed them out. Then he gave us the real a.s.signment.

Tonight after cla.s.s, read the record of food and drink I've given you. Then read it again. Keep reading it until an image of the author emerges. Make a portrait of the person and mount it on ill.u.s.tration board. Then write a one-page description of your subject's typical day.

"It's astonis.h.i.+ng how much a diet journal reveals. The size and portion part of the record tells as much about the person as the kinds of food and drink, as does the time one eats," Patrick observed.

"The question of what s.e.x I was dealing with became clear immediately. I stationed myself in a coffee shop, doc.u.ment in hand. With the first cup I nailed it. Clearly this was the record of a woman. This was not a cheeseburger-cheeseburger-cheeseburger diet. There were too many chicken and white wine combos for a man. Occasionally a girl will eat a chili dog, but a man will go to the dogs four times a week. I read it over and over and, sure enough, a character walked into my imagination."

While we all eat many of the same foods, men and women differ in the ways they eat in a fairly predictable way, though not entirely. There are always those pesky exceptions that make life interesting, for men and women can change places and do so regularly. While I will share a steak with Patrick on occasion, I have never entertained the possibility that I might pick up one for myself when he's out of town. Other women, when asked, have told us the same thing. But then, a slender young woman quietly revealed that she loves to have a steak when her boyfriend is away.

"The fattier the better," she confides.

Still, we haven't met the woman yet who will eat a steak three times a week. She will, however, eat from a pot of soup night after night. A man might eat a hamburger twice a day, but not a woman. A woman will eat too much and have an Alka-Seltzer evening once in a while. A guy, however, will settle in and make a habit of eating large quant.i.ties of food, as if it proves something about his maleness. A guy might swig whisky between bites of food and a woman might prefer white wine. But if she does have a whisky, she's probably sipping, not swigging.

To boldly generalize, men are simple and women are complex when it comes to food. Women's choices are often more thought out, whereas men are "I like this and that's what I eat." Over and over again.

If you cook in a restaurant, you'll notice that women tend to be more adventurous about what they order, and that they like to share their plates with others so that they can taste everything. Men, more often, like to know that a certain dish they've grown accustomed to eating will always be there for them. And as for taking tastes off others' plates? Well, that's just not something most men are eager to do.

"We're predictable and consistent," Patrick says, speaking for men in general. "We have the same kind of breakfast five times a week, the same hamburger for lunch, similar dinner themes, and many identical full meals."

And we're not just talking about gonzo guys. Refined men like repet.i.tion, too. Richard McCarthy, who runs the Crescent City farmers markets, says that when it comes to cooking during the rare moments he's home alone, he's a "bit of a pomp-and-circ.u.mstance cook," by which he means many pots and pans are involved. "Even at the worst of times I don't open a can."

What comes to mind for Richard are such dishes as sliced Creole tomatoes with cracked black pepper and hard cheese, mushroom omelets, sauteed kale with sesame oil and rice vinegar, bushels of fava beans, and buckets of beets. Not your usual solo male menu, in part because Richard is a vegetarian.

"But at heart," he says, "I'm also a peasant. I'd happily eat the same foods for days. If left to my own devices, probably I would."

Women are less predictable. On their own, they eat when they feel like it, have ice cream for dinner, or, if they've had wine and cheese in the late afternoon, they might skip dinner altogether. Then again, they might get a wild hair and cook a big greasy lamb chop. You just never know.

One thing we do know is that if women cook all the time for others, they're not too inclined to get out the pots and pans and cook for themselves. Hence the repast of corn on the cob only, or a feast of frozen Tater Tots. But there are some crossover foods.

Frito pie is something that reads like a guy dish, but this recipe comes from a woman. First, some background. Frito pie is a culinary icon in Santa Fe, where we live. You find it at flea markets, ball games, and fairs, and Woolworth's used to sell Frito pie when they still had a store on the plaza. They'd open a bag of Fritos and ladle chili on top and you'd eat it right out of the bag. It made a funky but good (as in tasty, not good for you), cheap meal. Now you can get a Frito pie around the corner at the Plaza Cafe or out at Harry's Roadhouse, a bit fancier and more expensive, but still good (as in tasty, but better for you.) The bag has been sacrificed and the new Frito pie is served on a plate. It might be vegetarian, and it will include some salady toppings. But here's the version suggested by one of our female eaters, an East Coast gal.

"Use Hormel beans!" she commands. "Heat them in the microwave. Add Frank's RedHot, a buffalo-wing sauce. Put Fritos on a plate and pour the beans over them. Or, just forget the chili. Melt cheese over Fritos in a toaster oven for Frito nachos."

On the other hand, here's a conscientious dish that really does sound more like something a woman would eat. But this man's trade secret for solo eating comes from a transplanted American writer who's lived in England long enough to have acquired an accent. Here's what he does for dinner.

"I open a tub of cottage cheese and eat it with a puffed rice biscuit, cuc.u.mber, and tomato with salt and pepper." If you'd put it on a plate, you'd have a nice little diety dinner, improved with a drizzle of good oil and freshly ground pepper, plus a clump of watercress.

Even with our often correct stereotypes of how men and women eat, Patrick's own record of food and drink for the Glazer a.s.signment was schizoid enough that it probably had a confusing effect on the cla.s.smate who received it.

"At the time, I was a bachelor and a vegetarian," Patrick says. "I was eating girly food when I wrote my menu-salads, tofu, things like that. My menu contrasted lunches constructed at Wendy's salad bars with evenings spent pitting swigs of whisky against avocado tacos. Glaser randomly chose my journal to read out loud, including all the jumps from sprouts to swigs of scotch."

"This is a virtual world war of food and drink!" Glaser announced to the cla.s.s.

And indeed, eating solo can resemble eating in the trenches. But then again, it can be an opportunity to take the time to develop a meal, slowly savor it, and drink more wine than usual, as many of our interviewees have confided.

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 cliched 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 magazine who says she stabs the h.e.l.l out of steak-really stabs it. But that's just to make it tender. Then she cooks it over a low, gentle heat, which a man probably wouldn't do.

Soft Avocado Taco Makes 2 A ripe avocado diced and tossed with salsa and then tucked into soft corn tortillas is a fundamental food. Have it with the tomatillo salsa, salsa fresca, or whatever your favorite hot sauce happens to be. Fresh cilantro is always welcome, of course.

For cheese, use a melting Muenster or Monterey Jack, accented with crumbles of Cotija, a dry, sharp Mexican cheese. And don't feel you have to eat an entire avocado at once. You don't. If you have a half left, just put it in a waxed paper sandwich bag and refrigerate for the next day. You might want to slice off any discolored surfaces, but otherwise, it will be fine.

2 CORN TORTILLAS.

1/2 AVOCADO, CUT INTO CHUNKS.

SALSA, YOUR CHOICE.

A FEW CHERRY TOMATOES, HALVED.

SALT.

CRUMBLED COTIJA, GRATED MUENSTER, AND/OR JACK CHEESE.

CHOPPED CILANTRO.

1. Put the corn tortillas in a hot skillet without any oil over medium-high heat. Turn them occasionally to warm them throughout while you make the filling.

2. Mix the avocado with a few spoonfuls of salsa and the cherry tomatoes. Season with a pinch or two of salt.

3. When the tortillas are hot and soft, cover them with the cheese or cheeses, let melt a little, then spoon the avocado on half of each one, add the cilantro, fold, and eat. That's it.

A Diety Cottage Cheese Plate with Watercress and Cuc.u.mbers You can use any or all kinds of cuc.u.mbers-lemon cukes with their bright yellow skins, skinny Persian cuc.u.mbers, or scalloped Armenians. Mixing chopped watercress into the cottage cheese flecks it with bits of green and makes it nicely peppered. I like the integrated flavors, but leave them separate if you prefer. Spoon the cottage cheese on your toast and add cuc.u.mbers, or eat everything separately.

A 3- OR 4-INCH LENGTH OF CUc.u.mBER.

A HANDFUL OF WATERCRESS, PLUS A FEW SPRIGS.

COTTAGE CHEESE, YOUR FAVORITE STYLE.

1 RIPE TOMATO, CUT INTO WEDGES OR ROUNDS.

OLIVE OIL.

SALT AND PEPPER.

TOAST, RICE CAKES, OR CRACKERS.

1. Slice as much cuc.u.mber as you want to eat. Should you have a tenderskinned cuc.u.mber from the farmers market, don't bother to peel it. Do peel a cuc.u.mber if it's been waxed.

2. Set aside the sprigs of watercress. Break off and discard the tougher stems of the rest, then chop finely. Stir the watercress into the cottage cheese. Mound the cottage cheese onto a plate and surround it with the cuc.u.mbers and tomatoes. Drizzle a little olive oil over all, then add a pinch of salt and freshly ground pepper.

3. Tuck the toast, rice cakes, or crackers onto the plate. Add those watercress sprigs you set aside to make the plate pretty.

Tomato Salad with Black Pepper and Hard Cheese Whether you've procured tomatoes from your own garden or someone else's via the farmers market, a plate of colorful heirloom or Creole tomatoes is a sure and festive bet for any eater. A tomato salad might be dinner for a light eater, but it also makes a fine accompaniment to roast chicken, skillet cheese, and egg dishes of all kinds. Don't be afraid to be generous, because you can cook any leftover tomato into a tangy little sauce in just a few minutes. It may not yield much, but it will be delicious stirred into an omelet or frittata.

A SCANT POUND OF HEIRLOOM TOMATOES, INCLUDING SOME OF THE TINY "FRUIT" VARIETIES 2 SCALLIONS, FINELY SLICED, INCLUDING A BIT OF THE GREENS.

2 TEASPOONS RED WINE VINEGAR OR AN HERBAL WHITE VINEGAR.

SALT AND PEPPER.