Elevating Dinner for One
—-THE New York Times story by Food stylist: Heather Meldrom. Prop stylist: Maeve Sheridan.
For a happy life, Montaigne wrote, we “should set aside a room, just for ourselves, at the back of the shop” — a refuge, mental if not physical, where our liberty is ours alone and our conversation inward. I like to think he meant us to include a carefully laid dinner table in the room’s shaded corner, considering how thoroughly our useful exercise of freedom relies on our being well fed.
Too often, though, when alone and hungry, we end up eating poorly. Or I have: Over the years, I’ve rushed through dozens of bad dinners scraped together because they were just for me, only to later realize the bad food and haste had delivered me directly into the loneliness I was trying to avoid. It’s when I’ve resolved to act not by myself but with myself — to serve as dignified a meal to me as I would to another — that the room has come to seem full and happy and loneliness has slunk away.
It’s the only cooking you’ll do, so make your preparations purposefully. The stripping of husk and silk, then the cutting of kernels into a bowl, are themselves tiny assertions of dignity. So, too, is standing right next to the hot pan as you add some very good olive oil, for warming sliced garlic and a bit of chopped scallion. There is light salting, then some chopped cucumber or tomato, or a bit of bacon, then the corn and a sprinkle of water; as soon as it becomes less brothy, add a few drops of sharp vinegar and a great shower of roughly chopped herbs. These last are an especially important touch, not to be skipped.
Then there is just the setting of the scene: a place in the darkening light, a little pitcher of water, a table laid with a clean plate, heavy silverware, chilled wine or beer. And sitting at it, enjoying the fine meal and good wine, and the patter of leaves against the window and the fading light and breeze.
Such dinners for one don’t just keep loneliness out. They provide a lesson in being happy at more crowded tables. It is impossible to eat well in groups if you cannot eat well alone. I think this is true of anything — if it’s not what you do when no one’s looking, it will never be truly what you do. An hour spent tasting, watching, hearing only the rustle of your own observation, allows for a certain perceptiveness to arise, for the I to be sharpened.
I now find that when weeks have passed and I’ve not found time for meals with only me, I yearn for them — in much the same way that once, before I learned how to treat myself well at the table, I longed for someone else with whom to dine.
Eating alone doesn’t mean you must eat poorly!
Recipe: sweet corn salad
