A review by sloatsj
Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone by Jenni Ferrari-Adler

2.0

Some of these essays were funny but overall I felt I was going to o.d. on navel-gazing. I guess I shouldn’t have expected otherwise. There was too much “I was poor,” “I was young,” “I was a struggling writer,” “My kitchen was the size of a placemat.” I would have been more receptive if I were a foodie myself but I definitely am not. (The book was a present.) Reading about food doesn’t stoke my appetite: “I ate eggs,” “I ate mushrooms,” “I ate my boogers,” can’t elicit much more than a patient yawn from me. If I’m home alone for dinner (hallelujah!), there’ll be no dinner. I am a poor, struggling writer with a small kitchen who likes her solitude straight up.