A review by booksaremysuperpower
Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone by Jenni Ferrari-Adler
3.0
If you are like me and find cooking shows relaxing and comforting and enjoy books about the joys of food and eating, this is definitely one to add to your roster. I was intrigued by the title and concept because I spent nearly 5 years living on my own in a studio apartment and was always baffled by the lack of cookbooks devoted to solo eating. Trying to cook for myself was always a pleasure, but adapting a recipe intended for four people down to just moi usually garnered mixed results (as a side note: I eat everything I cook, good or bad. Even my most disastrous overcooked pasta dish gets lovingly wolfed down because I took the time to make it).
But "Alone in the Kitchen with an Egglplant" is not a book simply about cooking. There are plenty of recipes included by the writers who contributed to the novel, but the book also deals with the idea of eating alone. Many writers hate it; a few relish in it. As another reviewer pointed out, I was also very surprised to read that the bulk of the contributors equate eating alone with loneliness. I was also shocked, actually, to discover that several writers, food writers and chefs I might add, keep such low stocked cupboards and generally eat bad food when they are alone with no one else to cook for. Refried beans straight out of the can is a picture of sadness, in my book.
It is an enjoyable book, if not terribly deep or insightful. The editor recommends reading the essays out of order and I concur, as many of the pieces are very similar in tone, so to read out of order gives you a nice variety of humor and revelation. I found some of the essays more intriguing than others, and I could have done with a few less pieces about starving writers living in NYC apartments the size of a large walk-in closet and how can they possibly cook a decent meal with such limited resources, blah blah blah. Hey, you won't get any sympathy from me- I once went two years without a fridge and then a year and a half with a fridge that didn't work and an only slightly working freezer that would eventually freeze the milk after three days. Somehow, I managed to eat well!
One writer has a piece about cooking for herself solely with goods from Trader Joes. TJ's is a single person/solo eater's mecca, and this essay completely took me back to my own studio apartment days when I basically lived at Trader Joes.
Although I disagree in part with their argument, the two essays that struck me the most were the ones where the authors baldly declared that they hated dining and eating alone and refused to do it. I appreciated the candor because I absolutely love eating and cooking just for myself. I don't want to do it all the time- sometimes it's wonderful to get out there and dine with friends- but night after night of dinner parties and social eating intimidates me. I love cooking a new recipe and sharing it with a group of friends at a pot luck, but I'm positively frightened of cooking full meals solely to entertain.
I do understand the need to eat with others, I mean it is practically in our DNA as hunters and gatherers. Food was scarce, enemies and wild animals lurked close at hand, and so the entire family gathered round the fire to nosh on a freshly killed buffalo, not only for nourishment but for companionship and protection too. I still have friends that will never, ever be seen eating alone, afraid of judgment I suppose, or perhaps it is a dormant fear and vulnerability stemming from caveman days that they will be attacked or shunned by dining alone.
But I swear there is nothing like treating yourself as well as you would treat a guest in your home with a delicious meal. My solitary meals are elaborate affairs, and although the food itself doesn't always turn out the way I intended, I spent the time and effort to make sure I ate something that was good for me. Not a bag of cashews for dinner, not refried beans out of a can, not a box of saltines for days on end, no, an actual MEAL. I think this is important.
A warning, though, about this book: You will constantly be hungry while reading it, especially during the specific pieces where writers talk about their go-to solitary meals. So what would be my go-to eat alone standby? The answer would have to be Risotto. I've been making it for me, myself, and I since high school and it only gets better. Needless to say, inspired by the writers in the book, I spent many a lunch slowly simmering a batch of risotto and taking my delicious bowl (or two. Let's be honest, I ate the entire pan full) out into the garden to read and savor each bite. This is my idea of solitary eating heaven.
But "Alone in the Kitchen with an Egglplant" is not a book simply about cooking. There are plenty of recipes included by the writers who contributed to the novel, but the book also deals with the idea of eating alone. Many writers hate it; a few relish in it. As another reviewer pointed out, I was also very surprised to read that the bulk of the contributors equate eating alone with loneliness. I was also shocked, actually, to discover that several writers, food writers and chefs I might add, keep such low stocked cupboards and generally eat bad food when they are alone with no one else to cook for. Refried beans straight out of the can is a picture of sadness, in my book.
It is an enjoyable book, if not terribly deep or insightful. The editor recommends reading the essays out of order and I concur, as many of the pieces are very similar in tone, so to read out of order gives you a nice variety of humor and revelation. I found some of the essays more intriguing than others, and I could have done with a few less pieces about starving writers living in NYC apartments the size of a large walk-in closet and how can they possibly cook a decent meal with such limited resources, blah blah blah. Hey, you won't get any sympathy from me- I once went two years without a fridge and then a year and a half with a fridge that didn't work and an only slightly working freezer that would eventually freeze the milk after three days. Somehow, I managed to eat well!
One writer has a piece about cooking for herself solely with goods from Trader Joes. TJ's is a single person/solo eater's mecca, and this essay completely took me back to my own studio apartment days when I basically lived at Trader Joes.
Although I disagree in part with their argument, the two essays that struck me the most were the ones where the authors baldly declared that they hated dining and eating alone and refused to do it. I appreciated the candor because I absolutely love eating and cooking just for myself. I don't want to do it all the time- sometimes it's wonderful to get out there and dine with friends- but night after night of dinner parties and social eating intimidates me. I love cooking a new recipe and sharing it with a group of friends at a pot luck, but I'm positively frightened of cooking full meals solely to entertain.
I do understand the need to eat with others, I mean it is practically in our DNA as hunters and gatherers. Food was scarce, enemies and wild animals lurked close at hand, and so the entire family gathered round the fire to nosh on a freshly killed buffalo, not only for nourishment but for companionship and protection too. I still have friends that will never, ever be seen eating alone, afraid of judgment I suppose, or perhaps it is a dormant fear and vulnerability stemming from caveman days that they will be attacked or shunned by dining alone.
But I swear there is nothing like treating yourself as well as you would treat a guest in your home with a delicious meal. My solitary meals are elaborate affairs, and although the food itself doesn't always turn out the way I intended, I spent the time and effort to make sure I ate something that was good for me. Not a bag of cashews for dinner, not refried beans out of a can, not a box of saltines for days on end, no, an actual MEAL. I think this is important.
A warning, though, about this book: You will constantly be hungry while reading it, especially during the specific pieces where writers talk about their go-to solitary meals. So what would be my go-to eat alone standby? The answer would have to be Risotto. I've been making it for me, myself, and I since high school and it only gets better. Needless to say, inspired by the writers in the book, I spent many a lunch slowly simmering a batch of risotto and taking my delicious bowl (or two. Let's be honest, I ate the entire pan full) out into the garden to read and savor each bite. This is my idea of solitary eating heaven.