Kitchen Dispatch 7
My eating has yo-yo'd the past couple of weeks, something that's maybe inevitable when you're mostly eating by yourself. I met someone the other day who's also recently moved to the city and lives alone, and was relieved to find that she's had similar experiences – struggling to self-regulate and to get into normal eating routines; cooking a four-person meal because it's easier just to follow the recipe, and then eating it all in one sitting. It's not just she and I, either - in fact it's not even just humans: as Thomas Lewis, Fari Amini and Richard Lannon show in their enlightening book, A General Theory of Love, it's something that happens in the animal kingdom too. They write that a social environment “fixes the normal formation of such behavioural basics as eating and drinking: isolates typically engage in prolonged food and water binges.”
I'm not sure how to solve this problem: to some extent, it's about self-control, but I also know well the problems that can arise as a result of self-control taken too far, and that in the end, too much restriction only circles round to bingeing again. I'm learning that the best approach is to try and just feed yourself well, with real food and with a focus on what you want – to treat it as a delicious and fulfilling game, in which the goal is to please yourself only. Cooking more is great (follow the four-person recipe!) but plate it up as though you were in a restaurant, fitting everything together as beautifully as possible.
Sometimes you (and I) will eat four portions, and that's okay too. I think part of the desire to eat and eat comes from a feeling of disbelief at the freedom that you're suddenly afforded when you're alone – like the 21-year-olds in the US who drink 21 shots on their 21st birthday, and end up horribly sick, bloated with the autonomy they weren't prepared for. Maybe the novelty of being alone wears off, and it gets easier. I have yet to test this theory, but if you stick with me on this weblog, I'll be sure to keep you updated. When I used to go and stay with my granny, whose husband died several years ago, I was appalled and saddened by the apparent rigidity and routine with which she lived her life. 'This isn't freedom!,' I thought, indignantly. I wanted to see her experimenting dandily, unfettered by the demands of husband and children, naughtily drinking a bottle of wine a night while putting away a family-sized block of Cadbury's Fruit & Nut. I wanted to see her flouting rules and convention. I remember my ex-boyfriend telling me similar things about his mother, who's been single most of the past twenty-three years: that when they went on holiday she'd bring her favourite brand of muesli with her, so ingrained was the habit of eating it every morning. Sometimes, instead of liberating you to try something different, there being no one else around just means there's no one to disrupt your routines. Food serves many different purposes in these situations: it's a comfort, of course, and a means of controlling what you can control, when other things (the death or departure of a spouse, for example), are completely out of your jurisdiction. I can see too – now – that it is a freedom to be able to eat the same thing every day: there being no need to entertain anyone else, why not just eat what you most love, over and over and over? I'm sure, if I stay alone long enough, I will sink into a similar rhythm, and it will be a happy one – one that means I don't have to think about what or how to cook, about portion-size or over- and under-eating.
I noticed that the Guardian's Feast columnists were writing 'recipes for one' this week: Ottolenghi's here and Rachel Roddy's (my life, my dream) here. All of these are delicious-sounding, and I may well try them this week. The thing with cooking for one is that it's hard to write a recipe especially for that situation: most recipes work just as well for one as for four or five. Consequently, most of those that feature in columns like these are just ones that the author would choose to eat when alone, when they have no one else to please or cater for. It's interesting the different reactions these inspire: some people, typically those who spend a lot of time in the kitchen for other people (Rachel Roddy being a prime example – a cook both for work and family), prefer low-effort dishes, with next-to-no cooking: an omelette, crostini, or a super basic pasta dish. Others see being alone as an opportunity to lavish attention upon themselves – to make a date of it, creating a meal worthy of a lover in the early stages of a romance. Either approach, though, is predicated on the idea that tomorrow, there will be people around again – to cook for; to be cooked for by. What about cooking when you'll be alone for a long time? When it's no longer a special date or a relaxing, liberating treat?
Again, I don't have the answers: I'm here to discover things just as much as the rest of you (anyone?). In place of the answers, though, I can provide a recipe. While this could be made for more than one, it's perfect for one person, because the core elements (eggs, yogurt) come in single servings, and thus you can make just exactly as much as you need and want. For me, it's two eggs, and a single-serving pot of yogurt – but alter these measurements however you see fit. Sometimes, a four-person meal is just what you need. This recipe is to suit my one-hob situation, but if you have two or four, use them to your advantage, and do everything at the same time.
1. Poach an egg, two or three or four. Best technique: add vinegar to the water, and then spin the water round with a spoon before you tip them in, to try and get them as tightly round as possible.
2. While they're poaching (keeping an eye on the time - they only need a couple of minutes) mix a clove of finely chopped or crushed garlic and a pinch of salt with the plain yogurt. I couldn't find any unsweetened Greek yogurt in my local supermarket (I know!) so I used fromage blanc – just go for whatever you prefer.
3. Fry some butter and olive oil in a pan, and put in a teaspoon of harissa (again - adjust for spiciness, harrissas vary); mix it all around. Put the two eggs in the pan briefly to warm them up, then take off the heat so nothing burns.
4. Put the yogurt in a bowl, and place the two eggs on top. Serve with toast - I used baguette, toasted in a frying pan (I have no toaster!), but ciabatta, pitta, Turkish pide – anything you fancy – would work.
5. Pour over the harissa oil, and a sprinkling of za'atar and/or black pepper, if you'd like.
6. If you fancy a bit of extra nutritional value, I had this with broccoli leaves & flowers (beautiful), steam-fried with garlic, and drizzled with tahini and olive-oil post-cooking. They were delicious. You could do the same with any greens – I thought the bitterness was a good addition though, so something like frisée would also work really well.
I'm not sure how to solve this problem: to some extent, it's about self-control, but I also know well the problems that can arise as a result of self-control taken too far, and that in the end, too much restriction only circles round to bingeing again. I'm learning that the best approach is to try and just feed yourself well, with real food and with a focus on what you want – to treat it as a delicious and fulfilling game, in which the goal is to please yourself only. Cooking more is great (follow the four-person recipe!) but plate it up as though you were in a restaurant, fitting everything together as beautifully as possible.
Highly recommend chilli salt for making everything prettier and tastier
I noticed that the Guardian's Feast columnists were writing 'recipes for one' this week: Ottolenghi's here and Rachel Roddy's (my life, my dream) here. All of these are delicious-sounding, and I may well try them this week. The thing with cooking for one is that it's hard to write a recipe especially for that situation: most recipes work just as well for one as for four or five. Consequently, most of those that feature in columns like these are just ones that the author would choose to eat when alone, when they have no one else to please or cater for. It's interesting the different reactions these inspire: some people, typically those who spend a lot of time in the kitchen for other people (Rachel Roddy being a prime example – a cook both for work and family), prefer low-effort dishes, with next-to-no cooking: an omelette, crostini, or a super basic pasta dish. Others see being alone as an opportunity to lavish attention upon themselves – to make a date of it, creating a meal worthy of a lover in the early stages of a romance. Either approach, though, is predicated on the idea that tomorrow, there will be people around again – to cook for; to be cooked for by. What about cooking when you'll be alone for a long time? When it's no longer a special date or a relaxing, liberating treat?
Again, I don't have the answers: I'm here to discover things just as much as the rest of you (anyone?). In place of the answers, though, I can provide a recipe. While this could be made for more than one, it's perfect for one person, because the core elements (eggs, yogurt) come in single servings, and thus you can make just exactly as much as you need and want. For me, it's two eggs, and a single-serving pot of yogurt – but alter these measurements however you see fit. Sometimes, a four-person meal is just what you need. This recipe is to suit my one-hob situation, but if you have two or four, use them to your advantage, and do everything at the same time.
1. Poach an egg, two or three or four. Best technique: add vinegar to the water, and then spin the water round with a spoon before you tip them in, to try and get them as tightly round as possible.
2. While they're poaching (keeping an eye on the time - they only need a couple of minutes) mix a clove of finely chopped or crushed garlic and a pinch of salt with the plain yogurt. I couldn't find any unsweetened Greek yogurt in my local supermarket (I know!) so I used fromage blanc – just go for whatever you prefer.
3. Fry some butter and olive oil in a pan, and put in a teaspoon of harissa (again - adjust for spiciness, harrissas vary); mix it all around. Put the two eggs in the pan briefly to warm them up, then take off the heat so nothing burns.
4. Put the yogurt in a bowl, and place the two eggs on top. Serve with toast - I used baguette, toasted in a frying pan (I have no toaster!), but ciabatta, pitta, Turkish pide – anything you fancy – would work.
5. Pour over the harissa oil, and a sprinkling of za'atar and/or black pepper, if you'd like.
6. If you fancy a bit of extra nutritional value, I had this with broccoli leaves & flowers (beautiful), steam-fried with garlic, and drizzled with tahini and olive-oil post-cooking. They were delicious. You could do the same with any greens – I thought the bitterness was a good addition though, so something like frisée would also work really well.
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