Cooking for one
Or: now we're really cooking!
First of all, let me reassure you, this is not going to be maudlin, as you might think. In fact, it is more like a celebration or, at least for me, a real positive turn of events.
It all started many years ago in a kitchen in the Bronx, where I, in high school, first explored cooking when I became a vegetarian (being a vegetarian is something that I have been doing on and off ever since). My signature dish for myself: a mixture of Rice-a-Roni, frozen broccoli, and mozzarella cheese. I seem to recall making this over and over, and it’s possible this is the only dinner I made myself for at least a year. I loved it. Also popular: cooked frozen peas and Parmesan cheese, which I perfected in college, if something like that can be said to be perfected. Honestly, I never got tired of it (in fact, I had this the other night) (yes, it’s an entire meal).
But my real signature college dish (genuinely perfected in a kitchen on Murray St. in Binghamton) was spiced dal, which involved cooking dal with a TON of butter and just adding a ton of spices (like coriander, garam masala, etc.) as it cooked. This is what I served whenever someone came over for dinner or if I was bringing anything to a potluck. Strangely I have not made it since my early 20s, which means I may have had too much of it, something that is unfortunately a bad habit of mine (see also: my yearly rhubarb obsession throughout spring and early summer until I am, quite honestly, tired of rhubarb).
The years after college are sort of fuzzy for me in terms of cooking, but then when I was 25, I was living with my friend Leah, who really knows how to cook. She made spaghetti sauce from whole tomatoes and introduced me to broccoli rabe and marinated artichoke hearts (when we were in college, and after, we would always get these as part of a night of snacking) (also: I repeatedly tried to add them to salads when my kids were little and, upon opening the little jar, I would end up eating the entire thing. Every single time. I seriously don’t think my kids have ever seen marinated artichoke hearts). Anyway, Leah and I cooked real meals together in our Astoria apartment.
Fast forward a couple years. My ex-husband really knew how to cook too, so when we started living together, he was the one who made nearly all our dinners, and he pretty much never stopped for the entirety of our living together. I was more a fan of baking, and desserts were often left to me. But when our kids were little, I usually made the lunches (my god, the endless quesadillas), and sometimes if there was a dinner I wanted to make, I’d make it. Once one of us had perfected a meal, that person was the only one who made it (which is why I continue to make the baked ziti I perfected way back then).
Then, in 2013, when my kids (ages 9 and 12) and I (43) moved to our own apartment, it was me who was suddenly doing all the cooking (though I was delighted when each of my kids went through a phase of making dinners). This was quite an adjustment for me, and I think I didn’t love it at first, as anytime I ended up alone at dinnertime, I would happily make myself some cereal and that was it (or perhaps peas and cheese).
But now, all these years later, unless my kids are home, I cook entirely for myself, every single day. It is a fucking delight. I should explain that Tony and I both work from home, in rooms right next to each other, and it is rare to have more than a couple hours go by where we are not interacting in some way. So that having dinner is not a necessary coming together catching up sort of thing; that, in fact, is our nightly TV watching. Actually, I don’t really make dinner. I cook one meal a day, nearly always at lunchtime, when I have the actual energy and desire to cook. In fact, Tony and I almost never want to eat at the same time and hardly ever want to eat the same thing. This is never a problem. We just eat whatever we want, whenever we want. Tony doesn’t really cook, though he has perfected exactly one meal in his crockpot: what we call “Tony masala,” a kind of chicken tikka masala that involves an entire bottle of Frank’s hot sauce. He absolutely loves it. I have never tried it. Occasionally, if I am making something with tofu, I might suggest that Tony join me for lunch, and then there is actual coordination to eat at the same time.
I’ll admit that this made me a bit sad at first, having been so used to sharing meals with and cooking for other people for so long. But then at the same time there was the realization that I had been cooking for other people for so long. Now I make exactly what I want, which is thrilling. Today, I tried this New York Times recipe called “Creamy Tomato Spaghetti with Preserved Lemon,” which sounded intriguing and was really quite nice. No one in my family would have liked it, I think. This does not matter.
As for my breakfasts and dinners, that is also what only I want to eat, but it usually doesn’t involve much cooking, which is perfectly fine. The only downside of cooking for myself is that though I love baking, baking an entire cake or batch of cookies is, shall we say, not a great idea. Tony does not really eat desserts (I know!). But I have sometimes quartered or eighthed (?) a cookie recipe so that I get like three or four cookies, which is exactly right. There’s nothing that math can’t solve, really.
In the end, cooking for myself has turned into one of the most surprising pleasures of my middle age, of my empty nesthood. Wouldn’t you know it? It turns out that I love to cook! For me!
I ate so much Rice-a-roni in college! The broccoli cheese one was particularly comforting. Also had a garbanzo bean, feta, and whatever veg I had salad that was in constant rotation.