FED #114: The Dinner For One

I’m very happy with this week’s column. Thank you to Lily Cho, for suggesting the idea, Christine Loureiro, for letting me write it and Deborah Dundas for working through two line additions that shifted the entire tone.

I was hoping to say something honest about cooking for one, without being depressing. Hopefully I got there. Here is an earlier draft. For me it highlights that, if a meal with myself produces 1900 words, it is always challenging to write 750 word column about dinner with much more interesting people. Though I think that it more accurately illustrates the power of editing, how less can be more. It's a good lesson for writers who don't have anyone telling them when to stop. So I would ask your generosity in reading this. It has the distinction of being the only column I've written during the actual dinner.

Status: FED

· Beef & Broccoli Tartare

· Pappardelle Carbonara

· The Count of Chocu-Cristo (french toast Nutella sandwich)

Guest #114.1: Cornelius P. von Mintzburg

Occupation: Parenting expert, bum model, Dr. Professor, paragon of virtue, dry-snitch, hero

Contributed: McLaren Vale 2007 Shiraz, clearly regifted

Sent thank-you: still waiting on it.

Standing on Baldwin Street, in between the butcher shop and the fish shop, tempted to flip a coin to choose between beef and tuna. In the end, I remember what a fuss my fish monger makes when I ask for a three-ounce, single-serving sized portion. And I just want enough to make tartare for one.

The butcher selects a microscopic piece of beef tenderloin for me. “Not that one,” I say, motioning toward the window display, “the smaller one.”

At home, the roommate and her boyfriend see the lit candles on the dining table. “Who’s coming over tonight?” she asks. No one, I tell her.

Tonight I’m going to make myself a nice meal, the sort we never do, because we rarely treat ourselves with as much care as reserve for others. So we should not neglect ourselves.

Sure, I eat well. Once a week, for this column I host a dinner. Usually there are a half-dozen guests, most of them strangers, to whom I serve three or four courses of food. Occasionally friends will invite me over for dinner. These invitations multiply when you’re in a relationship and dwindle when you’re not. It’s not through any malice. It’s just that, well, people have an even number of chairs and all the rest of their friends are couples and they don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, being the only single person. We differ in that they believe couplehood to be the normal order, where I would say that being alone is the natural state of human existence, that the moments we share with other people are the anomalies.

At least once a week I go out to one of my two favourite restaurants. Sometimes it’s to meet friends. Just as often it’s to dine alone.

Eating at the bar can be great, particularly when you’re traveling, as a helpful bartender may impart all sorts of insider information to improve your trip.

But at my regular spots, even though I know the staff and like talking to them, I feel guilty if they feel the need to entertain me. That’s why I brought a book. I’d be just as happy at a quiet table. But then I’d feel more guilty, taking up a deuce in a busy restaurant. Invariably I will bump into people I know. If they are generous they might invite me to join them. It’s always a thoughtful, appreciated gesture. But it’s about 5 percent of the time that they are someone I want to have dinner with. If we’d wanted to spend time together, we would have made plans.

Still, it is nice to go out and treat one’s self. At home it’s difficult to muster the focus. It’s easy enough to indulge, to eat an entire bag of potato chips, tub of chocolate ice cream or microwavable lasagna. But that’s not the same as the indulgence of care.

The most difficult part of cooking for one is portioning. Most solos people will cook a meal for two, eat half and have a lunch for the next day. That’s what I’d normally do. But tonight is an experiment — to cook for myself the way I would cook for guests.

At home, sometimes I’m testing a recipe or there are leftovers from the previous night’s fancy meal. But mostly, when I’m not entertaining, the average meal is a pile of broccoli or rapini or brussels sprouts. There might be onions, garlic, ginger or chilies. There may be some nutrient-rich grain, barley or quinoa. But whatever the combination, it will be eaten out of a big bowl, shoveled into my mouth with fork, spoon or chopsticks, while I watch Stephen Colbert. On my blog, I’ve been making weekly entries of things that I’m cooking. But as I continue to make more healthy choices, ATE has largely become sad photos of green vegetables, a catalogue of utility.

Unplanned tonight, I have two Liz Lemon moments. First, I end up on hold with Porter Airlines customer service for half an hour, the repeated recoding of “your call is important to us” becoming my uninvited dinner guest. Second, I nearly choke on a wedge of broccoli and question if I could give myself the Heimlich maneuver.

On the average night, around 7 p.m., I’ll pour myself a bourbon.

Tonight I start by opening a bottle of wine. The Sharpee initials on the back a McLaren Vale 2007 Shiraz denote the high school friend who’d put it on my shelf two years ago. I realize she’d bought it because it had her name on the bottle.

No, I should make myself a cocktail. I separate the egg yolks for a carbonara I’ll make later (After rolling out and freezing 16 servings of pappardelle yesterday, I deserve some), then start to assemble a bourbon sour with the whites.

As I shake the whites into a froth, I remember that there’s a party tonight. I’d written a profile about a fellow and he’d invited me to a big event with tacos. But there will also be a crowd. Many of them dislike me as much as I dislike them.

A friend calls, an ex-girlfriend. She’s pregnant and wants to talk about me, my parents, her parents, careers, restaurants, anything but the baby. I kick my feet up on the sofa.

Have I been dating, she wants to know. Married people like dating stories the way that vampires like an uncovered neck. Hearing that you’re not seeing anyone is garlic to them; your happiness is sunlight and the very concept of being contented with solitude is a stake through their heart. They can imagine not being married because it affords the fantasy of more sex and with different partners. But visualizing the absence of their life partner, minus the orgiastic payoff, is eternal damnation to them.

After half an hour we say our goodbyes. I see that my cocktail has been drained.

As I chop up the beef and thinly slice the broccoli for a spicy tartare, I put on a movie, The Conversation, one of my favourites. Despite a lot of plot about Gene Hackman being a surveillance expert, it’s a story about a guy who is conflicted with himself over his ability to be solitary. The score, comprised mostly of David Shire’s repetitive piano melody, is a fixture of my writing mix, a collection of music that helps me to tune out ambient noise —the library, a café, the AGO, my neighbours — to help me synthesize the sense of alienation that is sometimes necessary to squeeze out a thought.

There’s no one here to trade stories with. The tartare, a bright ruby of beef (and n’duja) sitting on top of lush green strips of broccoli, is eaten quickly. I remind myself to pause between bites, to pour a glass of wine.

It feels like a lot of food. Though I normally serve many courses, it would be over a long evening, spaced out with conversation and wine. I question if I’ll have an appetite for pasta and then dessert.

Once, while interviewing Ferran Adria, I’d asked if dining wasn’t an essentially social act. The El Bulli chef, waving his hands and speaking through an interpreter, had said that he routinely sits down for a 35-course meal in his own restaurant, by himself.

I don’t know if I could do that. But it does make me feel better about how late it’s gotten. I’d intended to start cooking at 7 p.m, actually started cooking by 8 and only started eating the first course at 10.

When we cook for ourselves, there is no deadline, no penalty for not being ready at 7 p.m., when guests arrive. So we tend to put it off, return another email, watch another Law & Order episode. And before we know it, it’s 10 o’clock. If I don’t start moving, I won’t make it through my menu.

As the guanciale slowly crisps in the pan I drain another glass of wine. After the pappardelle has cooked for exactly four minutes, I taste one, then strain the rest and toss them into the pan with the pork fat and noodles rolling around each other.

Removing the pan from the heat, I add the yolks, using my wrist to rock it gently. The contents swirl, earning a glossy yellow coat. My eyes, lost in the noodles, which are now slightly reflective, lose focus.

I’m a little drunk.

Or at least, I’m more intoxicated than I would be if I were hosting. If there were people here, to serve, to entertain, to listen to and observe, to make notes about for later, I would have some measure of my own lucidity. Dinner guests will bounce your drunkenness back toward you with the acuity of sonar.

The bowl of carbonara is set down on the long table, next to the only napkin and cutlery place setting.

Alone with the pasta and the movie, there is no distraction from the voluptuous feel of the broad noodles, slick with egg and pork fat. The Shiraz, feeble on its own, like a glass of warm jam, is now finding its voice as a backdrop against the rich starch. Instead of using the tissue in my pocket, I use a proper napkin to wipe the egg from my lips.

I feel like Scrooge McDuck, swimming in his fountain of gold coins.

If I could have any dessert, no effort spared, it would still be Nutella spooned directly from the jar. So I compromise with a double-layered french toast filled with Nutella, which I’ve dubbed the Count of Chocu-Cristo.

Once it’s in the pan, the smell of cinnamon and chocolate fill the room. I’d love a cup of coffee. But it’s midnight. As a nod to restraint, I don’t pour maple syrup over the french toast, which I gobble up as the movie ends, Gene Hackman having been driven mad by the mistake of getting involved in the lives of others. This is the fate of asocial protagonists, from Drive to every Michael Mann movie. Confident isolationists always pay a terrible price for the sin of empathy.

I don’t think that I would enjoy this meal any more if I were with someone. A couple nights ago I went for a terrible Chinese meal with friends. It didn’t matter that the food was bad because the company was good. The saddest thing would be to eat bad food, alone. But I don’t think we’re missing anything to eat a good meal by ourselves.

There’s a line in Out of the Past with Robert Mitchum, where he tells Jane Greer, “Nothing in the world is any good unless you can share it.”

I think the line, like the sentiment, is another con, a deceit to keep us from facing how alone we are. We are taught to see the word “alone” as a negative, synonymous with lonely. From the rom-com prism of couplehood, being alone is rarely synonymous with solitary or independent. Yes, experiences can seem better, perhaps magnified is more accurate, when we share them. But it’s just a diversion from the truth, that the time we spend with people, good or bad, is only a pause between the consistent, inescapable relationship we have with ourselves; one we had better grow comfortable with.

Date of publication: Saturday, December 21^st, 2012

If you enjoyed this column, you must read this wonderful piece by Doug Saunders, about dining alone in Paris.

The column seems to have struck a nerve. Already I’m overwhelmed by the positive feedback. Here are some of the responses I got.

Really enjoyed your article. Thanks for that!

I find myself pondering the same thing sometimes, being alone in the 'big city'... but you helped to make it feel more comfortable to be alone.

Thank you for that! I also enjoy taking the time to make myself a nice dinner and some vino, but don't do it enough I don't think.

Erin

Dear Corey,

Peanut butter on toast. Eggs. Canned this and frozen that.

Thank you for your beautiful perspective on singledom.

I used to love cooking when I had someone or people to cook for, but I've been on my own for 8 years now and I find it depressing. Your article has inspired me to invite myself back into the kitchen for me.

Thank you so much,

Paula Wolfson

Mr. Mintz,

I wanted to say how much a truly enjoyed this particular article of yours. I could not agree with you more. More often than not I find myself in unknown cities for work, eating alone. Initially I found this somewhat embarrassing and humbling. After years of this I came to realize how much I enjoyed it more so than dining with others. I am able to choose the type of cuisine and location with no negotiation, able to indulge without worry and experiment without financial concern. I’ve tried some of the most interesting dishes on my own and had some of the largest bills for a single diner (luckily not too often or my employment would have been short). Over the course of this I’ve come to realize as well how much I prefer this to dining with others. Don’t get me wrong I enjoy good company but too often it over shadows good food.

I believe you’re 100% accurate in your description of the word “alone” too often mistaken as negative. Ironically the older we get the more likely we are to exclude and remove people from our lives, de-friending our Facebook friends and limiting our close circle. Your article I think truly reflects the realities of human nature and the incongruent message we get from society that being alone is wrong.

Your article was articulate and spoke to me on a very personal level.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

David Shahid

Great article! Living alone I do the same with rapini, brussel sprouts etc.

And cook nice meals for myself as well.

The spoonful (or two) of Nutella made me laugh out loud, because I do the same thing!

After a nice meal, I make Nutella (or peanut butter) my dessert!

I always enjoy your articles but this one made me feel like you were spying on me!

Your words weren't just about cooking for one.

Thank you from someone who enjoys her own company during dinner.

Carla Onorato

Corey

Love your column.

Yes I totally agree, sometimes being with only "me" is great.

I love my family and friends, but when everyone is gone I love to spoil myself with a great meal, and yes I love to cook for others.

Keep up the great stuff

CJ

enjoyed your column in the Star!

I've made myself tons of sumptuous candle-lit dinners too; not to mention some rather spectacular (high fat!) breakfasts. I used to feel guilty. No more.

It's a form of self-love, of course, and self-nurture. Also good practice for when a guest, or guests, are present.

Hope your room-mate appreciates what you do for yourself, and her good luck having you around!

Charles

I found your recent piece on eating alone fascinating. As silly as comments about introspection and existentialist quandaries may seem coming from an eighteen year old, I really enjoyed your use of food as a mechanism for trying to understand, and accept, ourselves.

Zane Schwartz

I loved your article on "Eating alone - a recipe for getting to know ourselves better." I felt like it spoke to me, since I live on my own and regularly make scrumptious meals for others, yet I don't give myself the same attention.

Your description of the food you were making also had my mouth watering. It was very well written. Your honesty made it even better ("I'm a little drunk." I couldn't help but laugh when I read that).

I also checked out your pictures and I have to say your meal looks delicious! I was wondering if you were sharing your recipes anywhere? I'd love to try your meal out myself!

Thanks and keep writing!

Cheers,

Alexandra

I am quite happy dining out alone and traveling alone. I had to write to say I never thought adding to that 'The Conversation'. I had a week alone once, renting a flat in Amsterdam with a fireplace and a good book and yummy foods from a daily market. Only thing missing was a DVD of 'The Conversation', which is a masterpiece I haven't watched for years. Thanks for the idea.

Shelley Carroll

Loved your article today. Totally guilty of eating crap when I’m alone. Need the kick in the pants to cook a delicious meal for myself.

Netta

Very nice piece, Corey. And true.

Salut,

Lynda Hurst


Loved your article about eating alone. So VERY true!!!
You have inspired me to actually cook myself a proper meal this evening!!!

Thanks for your column,

Vicky Brown

You ain't nobody till TL tells me the five things they learned from your column.

Kudos.

NAME REDACTED

Just to thank you for your latest column... on eating alone.

I never make New Years' Resolutions, but this year I made two, and prompty forgot one; your column reminded me what the other one was!

I have been living alone far too long...not that I mind my own company, but I have always said it is better to share experiences.

Nevertheless, I cook for myself almost every day and I sometimes even go to the trouble of making an entire cake... just for me. So that part of your cooumn was nothing new.

Having moved recently to Malta where I know very few people, I've been waiting for friends to visit before going to do the tourist things... but Malta isn't exactly on the main tourist routes, unless you are on a cruise ship perhaps...

So what was my New Year's resolution that you reminded me of?

No to wait for friends...to go out to the museums, the galleries etc by myself if necessary. Then I'll know better which ones to take the visitors to - and in the meantime I'm looking after myself.

And if I see the galleries etc again another time...well, I'm sure there will always be something I didn't notice on the previous visit;

So thanks... and bon appétit! :0)

Ken Cowan

Hi Corey,

I just finished reading your article on eating alone on the Toronto Star website and I couldn't agree with you more.

I have an active social life with my group of friends, people I couldn't live without, I have a wonderful partner and I love her with all my heart, and I have my family, with whom some I get along with better than others.

I live by myself, and despite having such a vibrant social life, I crave and savor every second I can spend alone in my bachelor apartment. I'm a university student and musician, and the alone time gives me time to think and enjoy life on my terms, plus work on my projects. But pls don't get me wrong, I love all the people around me!

Even when I travel, I like to do it alone, no matter how many ppl beg me to let them come. I can then do as I please, when I please, and how ever long I please, without hearing complaints that will ruin my experiences.

I hope that other people will read your article and try to focus on themselves. A very good job indeed!

Regards,

Trevor

I read you routinely and with great enjoyment (not to mention inspiration) but your column on the joy of solo dining is a masteriece . . .

Cheers

Nick (that's Nick Freaking Van Rijn)

I am a regular reader of your food column and enjoy hearing about the people you entertain as well as what you cook for them. However, I really related to today’s column. For many years, I worked and then would come home to cook dinner for my husband who pretty well ate whatever I put in front of him. Then, 6 years ago, my husband passed away and I retired and I basically started eating microwave stuff or junk. However, lately, every once in a while, I do cook a nice meal for myself. I recognized the parts in your piece about watching another “Law and Order” episode, answering email and drinking wine! When I used to travel on business, I used to relish having a nice restaurant meal by myself. Nothing wrong with that.

Thanks for your column.

Barb

...

And then there were dozens of really nice compliments on The Twitter, including a number of people who started sharing their solo dinner menus.

And at just the right moment, a friend, with whom I’d recently been discussing the value of recognition and approval, asked how it felt. It was very timely. The answer is that if feels very nice when it happens. And maybe if I were a better or smarter writer it would happen more often. It’s a treat to have people not just enjoy your work, but to tell you that it touched them in a meaningful way. But still, it’s up to us to work as hard in a vacuum of compliments, to wake up every morning and motivate ourselves to be productive and creative.

The lesson that I want to take from that moment, is to remember how much others appreciate recognition. Being told that you’re doing a good job can pour a whole lot of Nutella into your engine’s work-sacks (that is my understanding of human physiology). My mission for today is to find three people who are doing a great job and to tell them so.