What We Eat When We Eat Alone Part 5

3 TO 4 OUNCES WHOLE WHEAT OR WHITE SPAGHETTI.

SALT AND PEPPER.

12 CAN TUNA IN OLIVE OIL (ABOUT 3-12 OUNCES) 1 TABLESPOON CAPERS, RINSED.

PINCH OF RED PEPPER FLAKES.

1 GARLIC CLOVE, MINCED OR PRESSED.

1 LEMON, ZEST AND JUICE TO TASTE.

CHOPPED PARSLEY.

1. Put the breadcrumbs in a small skillet with half the oil or b.u.t.ter on medium heat. Cook, stirring every so often, for about 5 minutes, or until crisp and golden, then turn off the heat.

2. Bring a large pot of water to boil, then add in plenty of salt and the spaghetti. Give it a stir and boil until al dente, 8 to 10 minutes. Keep tasting until it's as done as you like.

3. While the spaghetti is cooking, heat the remaining oil in a skillet wide enough to hold the finished dish. Add the tuna, the capers, pepper flakes and garlic, then grind in plenty of pepper. Cook over medium heat for a few minutes, breaking up the tuna with a fork.

4. When the spaghetti is done, lift it out of the water with tongs and transfer it directly to the pan with tuna, allowing some water to drip into the pan. Add a few pinches of lemon zest plus the parsley and toss well with a little lemon juice. Pile the spaghetti into a warm bowl, then scatter the breadcrumbs over the top.

Green Penne with Potatoes and Broccoli What makes this dish green are all the little bits of broccoli that break off into the pasta water. As for amounts, judge for yourself by eye what you think you want to eat, in what proportion, and if you want leftovers. If you're a huge broccoli fan, use even twice as much. If you're going light on pasta, use fewer noodles.

And don't throw up your hands at potatoes and pasta in the same dish-the contrasting soft and firm textures are a pleasure to eat.

1 HEAD OR MORE BROCCOLI, WITH OR WITHOUT THE STEM, CUT INTO SMALL FLORETS.

2 SMALL POTATOES, ANY KIND, PEELED AND DICED INTO 12-INCH CHUNKS SALT AND PEPPER.

1 OR 2 HANDFULS PENNE RIGATE OR SMOOTH PENNE.

OLIVE OIL.

2 ANCHOVIES (OPTIONAL).

2 GARLIC CLOVES, MINCED OR PRESSED.

A FEW PINCHES RED PEPPER FLAKES.

1 LEMON, ZEST AND JUICE TO TASTE.

PARMESAN, ASIAGO, OR PECORINO ROMANO CHEESE FOR GRATING.

1. First, get a big pot of water heating, then cut the vegetables. If using the broccoli stem, peel it thickly, then dice it into chunks about the same size as the potatoes.

2. When the water is boiling, add salt, then the broccoli, potatoes, and pasta, and boil until the pasta is done, usually about 8 minutes, but taste it to make sure. The broccoli florets will float to the surface, so you can scoop them out early if you don't want them too soft.

3. Once you've got the vegetables cooking, heat a skillet that will hold everything and add about 3 tablespoons olive oil with the anchovies and mash them into the oil. Add the garlic and pepper flakes, and turn the heat to very low. When the pasta and vegetables are done, scoop them out and add to the pan along with some of the water. Add the lemon zest, toss well, and taste for salt. Season with freshly ground pepper. For sharpness, squeeze in a little of the lemon juice. Transfer to a heated dish and grate cheese over all.

Spaghetti with Sun-Dried Tomatoes, Olives, and Capers This hearty spaghetti supper was mentioned at least a few times. One man makes it with sun-dried tomatoes, another with fresh, while a third uses canned. Anchovies are often added, and one lone cook topped his spaghetti with sauteed shrimp. However you approach it, there should be plenty of big l.u.s.ty flavor from the pepper flakes, olives, garlic-everything, really. These are approximate amounts.

SALT.

3 TO 4 OUNCES SPAGHETTI.

2 TABLESPOONS OLIVE OIL.

1 LARGE GARLIC CLOVE, MINCED OR PRESSED.

2 HEALTHY PINCHES RED PEPPER FLAKES.

3 TABLESPOONS SLIVERED SUN-DRIED TOMATOES PACKED IN OIL, OR ABOUT A CUP OF DICED FRESH CHERRY OR ROMA TOMATOES.

3 ANCHOVIES, FINELY CHOPPED.

2 TABLESPOONS CHOPPED KALAMATA OR NIcOISE OLIVES.

1 TABLESPOON CAPERS.

3 TABLESPOONS CHOPPED PARSLEY.

A FEW SPRIGS SLIVERED BASIL OR A TEASPOON CHOPPED OREGANO.

GRATED ZEST OF 1 SMALL LEMON, PLUS JUICE, TO TASTE.

PARMESAN CHEESE FOR GRATING.

1. Bring a big pot of water to boil for the pasta. When it boils, add plenty of salt and then the spaghetti.

2. While the spaghetti is cooking, chop the rest of the ingredients, including the lemon zest, and put them in a bowl big enough for the finished dish.

3. When the spaghetti is done, drain it, then immediately add it to the bowl and toss. Taste a strand and add more salt or a squeeze of lemon juice, if needed. Add grated cheese to taste.

Hungry Man's pasta with Arugulaand Almond Pesto Following the suggestion of what our hungry man chose for a solo dinner, this is what we came up with. It's rather more pungent and less floral than a pesto made with basil, given the anchovies and arugula, but it does wonders for spaghetti. It will keep for the better part of the week. Toss it with potatoes, spread it on croutons, and use it where you'd use other pestos. This makes enough for one big plate of pasta plus a repeat.

13 CUP ALMONDS 1 LARGE GARLIC CLOVE, COa.r.s.eLY CHOPPED.

SALT AND PEPPER.

2 OR 3 ANCHOVIES.

3 CUPS ARUGULA, FAIRLY WELL PACKED, BUT NOT OBSESSIVELY.

13 CUP OLIVE OIL 3 TO 4 OUNCES SPAGHETTI.

PECORINO OR PARMESAN CHEESE FOR GRATING.

1. Toast the almonds in a toaster oven or regular oven at about 325 degrees F until they smell good, 5 to 8 minutes. Pulse them in a food processor with the garlic and 14 teaspoon salt until finely ground.

2. Add the anchovies and arugula, and pulse again until smooth. With the motor running, add the olive oil. If needed, add more oil to loosen the mixture. Stop and sc.r.a.pe down the sides. Taste for salt and season with freshly ground pepper.

3. Cook the spaghetti in boiling salted water. Put half of the pesto in a bowl large enough to accommodate the pasta. When the pasta is done, lift it out and into the bowl, allowing some water to drip into it. Toss well. Taste for salt and season with freshly ground pepper. Grate the cheese over the hot, green spaghetti.

Short Pasta with Cauliflower, Pepper Flakes, and Parsley-Walnut Crumbs Cauliflower can be surprisingly bland, so it takes some flavorful items to make this dish sing, which it does. I adore the crunchy bite that crisped breadcrumbs lend to pasta dishes like this one. One night, I used walnuts instead, chopped with garlic and parsley, an even tastier but still crunchy option.

14 TO 12 HEAD CAULIFLOWER, AS MUCH AS YOU WISH TO EAT, BY EYE 2 TO 4 OUNCES WHOLE-WHEAT PASTA SHAPES.

SALT AND PEPPER.

2 TABLESPOONS OLIVE OIL.

2 TABLESPOONS b.u.t.tER.

A FEW HEALTHY PINCHES RED PEPPER FLAKES.

A HANDFUL PARSLEY LEAVES.

1 LARGE GARLIC CLOVE.

14 CUP WALNUTS ASIAGO OR PARMESAN CHEESE, FOR GRATING.

1. Bring a pot of water to a boil for the cauliflower and pasta. While it's heating, cut the cauliflower into small florets. Dice the core and use it too. When the water boils, add salt and then the cauliflower. Cook until tender-firm-you don't want it mushy-scoop it out and set aside. Add the pasta to the boiling water.

2. While the pasta is cooking, warm the oil, b.u.t.ter, and pepper flakes over medium heat in a skillet large enough to contain the finished dish. Chop the parsley with the garlic and walnuts, then add them to the oil along with the cauliflower. Give a stir and season well with salt and freshly ground pepper. Lower the heat.

3. When the pasta is done, drain, and then add it to the skillet. Turn to coat the pasta and cauliflower with the oil and parsley mixture. Spoon onto a warm pasta plate and grate the cheese over the top.

Tiny on the Couch.

The couch is a place of solace and comfort for many women, but it can be a challenging choice when eating with animals. When Roz goes to the couch to have dinner while studying Roman antiquities via The History Channel, she says, "I set my food on the coffee table and eat around the cat, which is inevitably in my lap. This makes the eating part a bit tricky, especially if shrimp are involved. Then, it's one for Tiny, two for me, one for Tiny, two for me."

Men and Their Meat.

"No steak sauce compares with whiskey."

James Turrell, artist and rancher.

"Lee Weedabahl's hot corned beef sandwiches made him famous in horse parks across the nation," Patrick reminisces. "The sandwiches were simple, gigantic, and delicious. Nothing more than slabs of corned beef pus.h.i.+ng ovals of light Jewish rye into a structure resembling a miniature Bilbao. Big sandwiches hand carved by a diminutive smiling man. When I was eight years old, Lee and I were nearly the same size. This is doc.u.mented in a photo of us wearing matching Coca-Cola patterned s.h.i.+rts. Did he shop in the boy's department? In any case, those sandwiches stayed with me, and when I'm home alone, corned beef is what I make."

These horse park meals have long filtered down into Patrick's culinary repertoire. On numerous occasions I've come home from a trip, opened the door of the fridge, and found myself staring down at a big ruddy chunk of corned beef, a nearly empty jar of horseradish, and an enormous bowl of cooked cabbage and potatoes-and this from a man who was a committed vegetarian for twelve years.

"Well, we still have a family box at Oaklawn-the home of the Arkansas Derby," says Patrick in self-defense, "and corned beef is still at the top of my list. It's a perennial winner and makes a great show when you have the guys over. But before you get to make a corned beef sandwich, you have to cook the beef.

"I get it and its little package of spice at the local fancy market, boil it as long as it says to, and add cabbage, potatoes, and other vegetables toward the end. The meat shrinks and gives off a lot of fat. If it's winter-and winter is the time for corned beef, not summer-you can stick the pot in the snow when you're done cooking so that all the fat congeals. Then you can sc.r.a.pe it off. Now you can make the sandwich: slice the meat thinly across the grain, put it on rye, and add a lot of mustard and horseradish. Have the vegetables on the side. A slab of corned beef will make sandwiches for the better part of a week."

Of course, corned beef and cabbage is revisited every Saint Patrick's Day, but I've found a way to make it less dreary if not actually uplifting and spring-like. It's simple. Use golden beets, baby bok choy, and radishes for the vegetable accompaniments; add the rosy slices of meat and it all looks like a spring garden. And the leftovers still make plenty of sandwiches.

Men, many of them, do like their meat. Among all the men we spoke with, just one suggested that he might use his solitary nights for the opportunity to have a salad for dinner. This was an amicable African American man I sat next to on a flight to Atlanta, who knew a thing or two about barbecue and a lot about cheesecake, his favorite food. Salad came in second. I ended up with a list of the best places to get cheesecake from New York to Atlanta, then over to Kentucky. But this man was actually pa.s.sionate about salads, and I never would have pinned him for a salad man. He patted his ample front and said, "It's good that I love them. I need to eat salads!"

The publisher of one of America's more astute food journals mentioned that he eats meat six out of seven days a week. It might be a roast or the fattiest, thickest pork chop he can find, served with a baked potato-a weekend menu, he said. "I deglaze the pork chop with white wine and most of the time I overcook it because even though the danger of trichinosis is low-1 percent if the hog has been fed garbage, 1/10 of a percent without the garbage-the problem is, you never know."

There's a pause, then he changes direction and remarks that because his schedule is the same weekday or weekend, he'll most likely cook a steak-logic that is lost on me.

"I like the raunchy chuck-end of a rib eye," he says, nearly smacking his lips. "I saute it, or I should say 'fry' it, with a lot of fat. I put olive oil with the fat tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs in a stainless steel skillet and fry it hot. Salt and pepper go on before, garlic after. I also take a piece of bread, toast it, rub it with garlic, and drizzle it with more oil."

In case you're wondering, this man is thin. Maybe because he tempers his excesses with a lettuce or arugula salad with freshly cut raw onions. Or maybe because he eats everything with red wine and ends his meal with a tiny piece of chocolate, which is no doubt beneficial if you're going to dig into the raunchy end of a rib eye a few times a week. And to think Patrick interviewed him years before we knew that red wine and chocolate were heart savers and all of that. A man ahead of his time.

A scholarly British author living in France told us that when he's batching it, he buys a piece of meat, usually a lamb chop. But this is no simple throw-it-in-the-pan-then-eat-it affair. "I look among the vegetables and pick something my wife doesn't like, like parsnips. She really dislikes parsnips. Then I look into the cupboard to see what appeals to me. I open a stout or a cold Pelforth Brune, and I also open a bottle of wine, for the cooking, you know. Chiles are going to be among the spices I'll use-fresh red chile, fresh ginger-the tingle-and-burn spices."

While I'm trying to grasp exactly where this is going, our acquaintance reveals that he is in possession of the most essential ingredient for all good cooks-a garden.

"Next," he continues, "I look out in the garden to see what's there. Sometimes we have wild sorrel, two or three kinds. If I'm lucky there will be horse mushrooms. But generally I want a bit more greenery, like cabbage. I chop it and eat it raw with a bit of olive oil and untoasted caraway seeds. I may put some of the seeds in the pan when I'm cooking the sorrel," he muses. "And I'll probably fry the chop with some onion, then have more chopped onion on the side. The chile is going in the marinade, and some of it's going on the chop as I fry it."

We've lost track of the dish, but I think we've ended up with a lamb chop with tingle-and-burn spices, a dab of sorrel with caraway seeds, raw chopped onion, and some cabbage on the side. No parsnips, after all. Dessert, once he gets there, is ice cream with maple syrup. Whew!

We happen to know a few men who are both artists and ranchers, and a few others who combine writing and farming, difficult and generally low-margin careers, all, with few exceptions. One is artist-rancher James Turrell. James has been known to call himself a "light heavyweight." An artist who uses light as his medium, James injects light from lunar and solar sources into the interior of a spent volcanic cinder cone called Roden Crater. His cattle roam on thousands of dry-gra.s.s acres in the general vicinity of the crater, and artists from all over the world have made the pilgrimage to this extinct, bicolored volcano. When we stopped by to visit a few years ago, he served us beef for dinner and beef for breakfast as well as lunch the next day. Ranchers' fare. I've learned through doing vegetarian cooking cla.s.ses for the wives of Texas ranchers that the beef-beef-beef menu is not all that uncommon.

James's favorite beef dish is smoked beef with special sauce. "I resort to the smoking and basting thing," he confesses. "Fire up the smoker in the afternoon. Put on the meat. I like tenderloin. Flank and brisket I like as well, but tenderloin is all I eat. I'll have a salad with crumbled blue cheese. No potato. I stay away from the carbs. And no steak sauce compares with whiskey." And that's the special sauce. It can go on the meat or in the mouth. Or both.

Another rancher, Hugh Fitzsimmons-who is not an artist but who was once a high school history teacher-raises bison in south Texas. Hugh says, "When I eat alone I usually have a bison burger on an English m.u.f.fin." That's not so surprising; he loves bison and he has a freezer full of it. But there's a trick to cooking it that Hugh has taught us.

"Go low and slow," he intones. "Don't hurry, and keep that heat turned way down." That way this very lean meat retains its tenderness. And that goes for all the other bison cuts he's been known to cook as well. (Incidentally, Hugh's bison isn't just any old buffalo. In 2007, Thunderheart Bison was the blue ribbon winner in the Gallo meat and charcuterie show in New York.) Kaftes, or keftes (spellings vary by region), are basically meatb.a.l.l.s wrapped around skewers and then grilled. Sari Abul-Jubein, the owner of Casablanca restaurant in Cambridge, Ma.s.sachusetts, rustles up kaftes for his solitary meals. He seasons ground lamb with minced onion, c.u.min, allspice, chopped parsley, and pine nuts. They are really very good and not nearly as dense as other meat dishes.

"You make b.a.l.l.s of the meat and squeeze the liquid out of them, skewer them, then put them on the grill," explains Sari. "They make a meal that's great to share with others or to enjoy alone. I have a salad with them, a tomato salad with onion, mint, olive oil, and lemon. Or a yogurt salad with cuc.u.mber, garlic, and mint."

This might well be the most wholesome of the men's meat meals we uncovered. The kaftes are smallish, the vegetables plentiful. True, planning might not be as crucial for Sari as it is for those who don't have a restaurant to raid. We imagine Sari strolling into Casablanca's kitchen, scooping up some seasoned lamb, grabbing a few tomatoes, then heading home to make or, rather, a.s.semble his very appealing dinner. But then we made kaftes using some of Hugh's bison mixed with local lamb and found that it's an extremely straightforward dish. The salads are too, and together they make a great team for a hot-weather dinner. This is a menu we make often and eat with pleasure.

Meatb.a.l.l.s, when you think about it, are close cousins to Sari's kaftes. As with kaftes, onion, herbs, and breadcrumbs are mixed with the meat, but meatb.a.l.l.s are bigger and rounder, and are not on a stick. They're also more likely to be beef than lamb.

Many a man's favorite pastime involves b.a.l.l.s-football, basketball, baseball, and soccer. One year for the Super Bowl, Patrick fas.h.i.+oned an enormous pile of meatb.a.l.l.s to serve his guests, along with a mountain of spaghetti. Architecturally, it makes more sense to serve meatb.a.l.l.s with polenta than spaghetti. The competing shapes of spheres and lines just don't work well together, but it seemed easier to cook pasta and still keep an eye on the game. There were so many meatb.a.l.l.s that we ended up freezing a dozen, which were much appreciated on snow-filled days when the roads were closed and there wasn't much to eat around the house. Without waiting for them to thaw, we cooked them slowly in a skillet where they defrosted and cooked simultaneously, much like the hamburger discussed below.

With cooking, planning is often a problem: predictably there will be hunger, but frequently there's no plan of attack. We don't think ahead, hence all this heat-and-serve food, takeout, cold cereal, and worse. Our instant-food, eat-and-go lifestyle provoked one television host to come up with a recipe based on the lack of planning-a rare and crispy burger that starts out with frozen hamburger that you forgot to defrost.

"You take a one-inch-thick frozen burger and put it in an un-oiled pan over low heat," he instructs. "The water from the thawing meat keeps it from sticking. Cook it like this for seven minutes on each side, then remove it from the skillet. Turn up the heat until the skillet is very hot, then put the burger back in and cook until it's crispy on each side."

This cook plops his burger on whole-wheat bread, adds ketchup and sliced sweet onions, salt and pepper. Sometimes he takes the bread and mops up the pan juices, something my father always did while my mother stood by, watching and appalled.

True, there are foods that men's wives will not eat, and many men will cook those foods when they find themselves alone, like the aforementioned parsnips. Blood sausage and tripe are other examples of man-alone foods. It's blood sausage that goes into one Englishman's spicy sausage, salad, and spuds, a rather better-than-usual version of bangers and mash, especially if you add the salad.

"Actually, I cook any kind of sausage or bacon or ham, or a pork chop," he admits, explaining that girls, his wife included in that category, don't like that much meat. "And I drink more red wine than I normally would when they're not around," he adds.

"Then I make a special spicy salad-an all-herb salad with a whole bunch of minced cilantro, chives, parsley, rocket, and mint with olive oil and a couple of drops of balsamic vinegar over the greens." This is a provocative salad because it's so familiar and exotic at the same time, so unexpectedly complex. A salad recipe is needed in this chapter, and a spicy herb salad goes well with meat, especially grilled meat.

Cookbook author Cliff Wright also goes for blood sausage when he eats alone-that and quite a few other things no one else will eat. It might be Polish-style blood sausage bought from a local Polish deli, with a fried egg on top. Or tripe in tomato sauce or a pan-seared Muscovy duck breast. "Others would like that, but I can't afford to buy more than one, so I usually have it when I'm alone. And my vegetables," Cliff adds, "are very simple, like broccoli and b.u.t.ter. And I mean, that's it."