Flying Solo

Los Angeles, California

Writing a blog sometimes reminds me of those scenes in films where people happen into the mouth of a cave, calling out Hello-o-o-o? Is anybody there? Probably the one thing you surely wouldn't do if you happened to close in on a cave or mineshaft. When I was taking film classes in college, a recurring example of cinematic cliche was the young woman going up the stairs when she heard something scary happening up there. Don't go there, our brains are screaming at the hapless bimbo. But, in the case of blogging, you just keep stumbling along, hoping and trusting that someone is in the cave or even up the stairs, as long as there is someone. Somewhere.

What all of that mineshaft business happens to have in common with this post is a mystery. Except, as I've written before, writing a blog can sometimes be a lonely endeavor. But, cooking and eating alone should not be so. I lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment off-campus in my last three semesters of college. What bliss! I had reached the end of my tether, roommate-wise, and living on my own enabled me to set up and stock my kitchen larder in a way that was like designing my own universe. Solipsistic beyond my wildest dreams. I bought bacon, and good cheeses, and cans of Smokehouse almonds to go with cocktails. Needless to say, I stocked a bar -- though nowhere near the extensive bar that we now run here. It was simple. It was well-thought out. It was fun.

Now, bacon and Smokehouse almonds may not seem like the epitome of good living, but again, people, this was college. It was also a time when I experimented a lot with ethnic cooking (which seems to be what we all did if we were cooking at that time). I pretty much had enchiladas down -- the story goes that I was eating them at the LA Farmers Market on Fairfax from the time I was about two, and making them since I was a teenager. But during college I acquired a paella pan, conquered a b'stilla, and polished all the rough edges off of my cioppino. I had a boyfriend who was also adventurous, food-wise, and off we went as I prepared something new and challenging, usually on Friday evenings after our week of classes and part-time jobs.

But, as much fun as that was, I also spent a lot of time eating alone. I could write about the time that I ate eleven flour tortillas with butter while I was studying for finals. But we all have stories like that, mine not much different than the rest, though illustrating my lifelong love of carbs-as-comfort. And, probably what I was eating alone in those days was not as good as what I eat alone these days -- when I am in Carmel, or feeding myself before I go out to dance.

I have two books that speak to this: Solo Suppers by Joyce Goldstein, which I gave to my mom after my dad died, and has subsequently come to me (along with more than a hundred other cookbooks which my mom had collected). And, a book entitled What We Eat When We Eat Alone, by Deborah Madison. This book is fascinating -- not a cookbook, but a collection of, well, what people eat when they eat alone. Amanda Hesser, of the New York Times, also wrote a chapter about this in her book Cooking for Mr. Latte -- a book I have been referencing a lot lately as I try out several of her recipes which are included in her memoir about meeting and marrying her husband. I find it an intriguing subject -- what we go for when no one is around, and we eat to satisfy ourselves.

Now I could confess to a dinner of Mallomars and The Macallan 18-year-old scotch, and that would probably make a better story. But, alas, I've never. Yet. It's probably more heinously boring to admit that my favorite solo meal is late breakfast or lunch, and it consists of a slice of good multigrain bread, toasted, then toasted again with a slice of fine extra-sharp cheddar or gruyere cheese, until barely melted. I slice this across diagonally, and eat the halves with cottage cheese and apples -- chunky, cooked apples (see blogpost: Come Sunday, available now for a limited time), though cranberry sauce will work in a seasonally-appropriate pinch. If I don't have the fruit, a glass of apple cider can step in. It's not perfect, but accommodations sometimes have to be made even when you are serving yourself (and, of course, more often when you are serving others).

Cranberry Sauce

1 bag cranberries (organic if you are so inclined)
3/4 cup sugar
1 cup apple cider
1 cinnamon stick
2 tablespoons Calvados

Combine first four ingredients in a medium saucepan. Cook over moderately high heat, stirring to dissolve sugar. When it comes to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for about six minutes. Take off heat, and stir in Calvados. It will thicken a bit as it cools. Makes about a pint, mas o menos.

My new favorite dinner before salsa is a quinoa salad: quinoa rinsed and cooked; then tossed with arugula or chopped romaine. Add avocado, a handful each of halved Sweet 100 tomatoes and kalamata olives, and a sliced up cooked chicken breast. I toss this with lemon olive oil, a drizzle of sherry vinegar, a pinch of sea salt and freshly-ground pepper. Have also been known to substitute a roasted slab of salmon for the chicken, or some cooked shrimp. If I'm not dancing, I add a sliced scallion, maybe a handful of feta cheese or some marinated artichoke hearts. It's so easy and adaptable to your whims (the best thing about a recipe for solo dining).

My heartstrings are tugged at the thought of those who have no choice but to eat alone. Truth is, breaking bread with others is part of what makes food and dining so special. Though sometimes just the taste, along with the comfort found in the food I eat, is, well, satisfying enough. I have a frister who says that she has so little interest in food that she only eats because she has to in order to survive. This hits my heart in the same way that I feel about people going through life without dancing, though I realize that one person's joy is another person's misery (ask Billy how he feels about dancing). Still, when you enjoy something so intensely, it is difficult to accept or even comprehend that others can just take a pass. Alas, I have learned that such is life. Being smarter than me, you probably already knew that. If not, in spite of everything, you must trust me about this. Thank you for reading my blog. Now go grab a friend and share something good to eat!