I stopped by my happy place (Borders) today after work to bask in the smell of coffee and new books and let the chattering of strangers flow over me for a while.
On the way in, I noticed a book on the discount rack called 'Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant' whch turned out to be a FABULOUS non-fiction book of essays wherein two dozen or so writers talk about meals, rituals, and secrets of dining alone. The reason that after reading only the introduction and two essays, the book has me hooked, is that it's honest and hilarious. It's not a snooty book of fabulous single serve lamb and prosciutto. Rather, it spills the secrets of who we are in the kitchen, alone, with no accountability to anyone. Beans from the can, saltines with jelly, only white food, the same meal for a week straight.....we all have odd food habits, and the beauty of singleness is that we have more time than others to explore and enjoy that part of ourselves. Most of the people in the book, from what I gather, are competant if not excellent cooks. The thing is, sometimes, cooking is more about doing things for others. That is certainly true for me. Occasionally, I go all out for myself, presentation and all. Usually? Usually I open a couple of cans or slap a sandwich together. Sometimes, I eat that sandwich over the sink. And I like it.
This book celebrates the fun of these nights while also admitting the sadness and melancholy of them. It is not an indictment of those of us who dine alone, but a from the gut, honest, and endearing work that screams 'You are not alone, saltine queen!'
I plan to head back to Borders tomorrow and probably buy the book. It's inspiring me to write my own 'strange foods' essay.
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