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le13anna's review
3.0
Like all essay collections this one is a mixed bag. But I loved the questions it was asking. How do we feed ourselves different when we are alone than when we are cooking for others? Do you eat repetitively or diversely? Do you eat with a spoon and a jar of peanut butter or do you use linen and candles?
aje9065a's review
4.0
I picked up this book because I like the premise. Dining alone, doing anything alone, is often devalued. To borrow from Rufus' Party of One the assumption is that eating alone is scarfing down a bag of FunYums and watching Porky's 2, as opposed to enjoying something tender and succulent that deserves one's full attention without the constant interruption of other people.
Some of the stories are about dining alone, either in public or in private, while others are about cooking alone-either in a solitary apartment or serving others. There is some overlap. My favorite are those authors who do the most with the least; an apartment so small one has to do dishes in the bathtub, a complete lack of cooking experience, an extremely limited budget. Today, with the internet, it is so easy to punch in 'easy eggplant recipes' and eliminate all creativity.
Dining alone in public offers its own social commentary, which is probably handled in other volumes. As for being the master chef, for yourself or others--it brings a special kind of confidence. It's a happiness that deserves to be experimented with in this age of 'fast' and 'instant' food.
Some of the stories are about dining alone, either in public or in private, while others are about cooking alone-either in a solitary apartment or serving others. There is some overlap. My favorite are those authors who do the most with the least; an apartment so small one has to do dishes in the bathtub, a complete lack of cooking experience, an extremely limited budget. Today, with the internet, it is so easy to punch in 'easy eggplant recipes' and eliminate all creativity.
Dining alone in public offers its own social commentary, which is probably handled in other volumes. As for being the master chef, for yourself or others--it brings a special kind of confidence. It's a happiness that deserves to be experimented with in this age of 'fast' and 'instant' food.
hollowspine's review
5.0
Five Star review of this book! Even though I find myself in a similar situation as many of the authors in the book, eating alone for pretty much the first time in my life, I still enjoyed this book. I was really able to understand the feelings many of the writers talked about; not feeling like it was worth it to create some elaborate dish, when you would be the only one eating it. Returning to comfort foods and creating somewhat strange concoctions because there is no one to please or to judge other than yourself. It also made me feel a little bit sad, however. Unlike most of the author's I'm not doing something great, my lonliness will most likely not lead to a book deal or to anything much better than what I already have. Like some, I long to return to cooking for and with others.
otterno11's review
4.0
This was a very enjoyable collection of essays about a subject that has, in recent years, become very familiar to me. Several years ago I moved to a small city in which I knew no one and found myself preparing many meals for one in the tiny kitchen of my studio apartment (and occasionally a little something for my pot luck loving coworkers). Having recently become interested in cooking (particularly vegetarian/vegan cuisine) I used this time to experiment with many odd cookbooks I’d acquired, becoming more skilled in the arts of food preparation. I came to have many mixed feelings about cooking and dining alone; loneliness, of course, but also satisfied enjoyment of favorite foods that others may not enjoy, pride when people in the hallway commented at the delicious smells coming from my apartment. These essays, coming from a diversity of writers from many backgrounds capture many of these feelings and explore the contradictory feelings that surround indulging in one of humanity’s most basic needs alone. Much of the time, I could identify the feelings of many of these writers experiences, in particular the theme that cooking alone can allow the diner to be “strange or decadent or both,” as expressed by Jenni Ferrari-Adler. I can definitely admit to this in my cooking for the last few years. All of the essays were highly enjoyable, but I liked Phoebe Nobles’ “Asparagus Superhero,” Ann Patchett’s “Dinner for One, Please, James,” Steve Almond’s “Que Sera Sarito,” Ben Karlin’s “The Legend of the Salsa Rosa,” and Laura Dave’s “How to Cook in a New York Apartment” in particular. Laurie Colwin’s eponymous 1988 essay was a great introduction. Also, the recipes included with many of the stories were a nice touch, and I can’t wait to try them out in the near future; the next time I find myself alone and needing a tasty repast to hold me over until my friends and family stop by.
lapetite's review
4.0
It is certainly true that cooking is therapeutic, creative, and all those other faintly creepy self-helpish words. I would love to tell you that learning to cook was part of my journey toward actualization. I would love to tell Oprah this. I would love to tell Oprah this while weeping. But I learned to cook for a much simpler reason: in the abject hope that people would spend time with me if I put good things in their mouths. It is, in other words (like practically everything else I do), a function of my desperation for emotional connection and acclaim.
Que Será Sarito: An (Almost) Foolproof Plan to Never Ever Eat Alone Again by Steve Almond
I’m going to start this review with a story. Something I (almost) never do.
In the summer of 2011, I moved to London to study pâtisserie out of very strong whim. I call it a whim because what else can you call a sudden desire that sprung forth out of nowhere? I don’t remember being pulled towards the kitchen at any point in my life. Many people said I should go to Paris but since I didn’t really possess a strong grasp of the language (high school french only served me enough to sing french Christmas carols around school), I figured I better go to a city where I had a better chance of communicating.
This would be the first time I lived on my own, something I had been dreaming of since I was in 8th grade. It would be the first time that I would be left to my own devices. That meant I could eat whatever I wanted (CEREAL ALL DAY!), do whatever I wanted (not leave the house for 4 days straight while watching Snog, Marry, Avoid and Extreme Couponing) and nobody would say anything about it.
Let me tell you, nothing compares with leaving your apartment and then coming back to see that everything was exactly where you had left it. Nobody took the book you were reading and set it somewhere else, nobody arranged your organized mess, nobody ate the last moravian cookie in the tin, nobody would judge you for having 2 bottles of wine and 1 water bottle in your fridge as the sole residents.
It was heaven.
Because I was on my feet for 6 hours straight, whisking, folding, kneading, and balancing heavy cookie sheets, I had no desire to cook myself anything when I got home. All I cared about was washing out the black currant stains from my fingers, sitting in front of my TV on the IKEA couch I had assembled all my by lonesome (a feat for me) and stuffing myself with dry Red Berries Special K cereal.
I had no problem repeating the same meal over and over. The familiarity of the taste offered comfort. I was in a strange land. The only other Dominican I knew lived more than 10 tube stops away. Half the time that detail didn’t matter but when it did, I had my old faithfuls ready.
When I got tired of eating dry cereal, I went to the supermarket and bought a bag of 20 baby clementines. That became my go-to snack/meal for a while.
It wasn’t until 5 months had gone by that I decided to make myself something hot. You know, besides the UK version of Chef Boyardee. A sixth re-watch of V for Vendetta gave me an idea.
Eggy in a basket (also known as eggy in a hole). Simple, comforting and so easy to make.The cackling sounds that erupted from the pan when I dropped the egg, the aroma of sizzling brioche bread would flood my tiny kitchen. For the first time, I felt like a grown up. I was taking care of myself. I had other things to consume beside copious amounts of wine.
Reading Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant transported to that tiny kitchen in London. The one with the see-through curtains, the wooden floor that creaked every time I took a step, the same little kingdom of solitude with me as the queen.
Gosh, I think I’m going to cry.
Some of these essays are fun and relatable, like Asparagus Superhero by Phoebe Nobles. I can perfectly see myself eating asparagus seven ways to sunday until they disappeared from the market, no problem; others like Thanks, but No Thanks by Courtney Eldridge are painful and somewhat uncomfortable to read all thanks to the brutal honesty. Some stories include recipes, a few of which I have earmarked for that elusive weekend when I am completely alone at home. Eating alone is a very personal affair and reading about how many of these authors dealt with those lonely times made me feel I had gained access to a club I didn’t know existed. For when you’re eating alone, at least for me, it feels as if there is nothing and no one else outside those four walls. Sometimes, that’s just what I need.
Overall, Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant : Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone is like drinking a glass of very good wine; one must consume it deliberate slowness to really enjoy the notes.