weekend update, Nov 3, 2012

 A good meal is like a present,

 and it can feel goofy to give yourself a present.

Jenni Ferrari-Adler

 We and our mammalian kin are social critters, aren't we? We are (most of us) pack animals, and even if the pack is only two or three members strong, there are things we enjoy more when we're doing them convivially. And dinner is one of those things. Traditionally, dinner does it's best work when it's playing to groups of more than...well, dinner seems to prefer being enjoyed by more than one.

It doesn't matter how wild we are,

or how tame.

No matter how cultivated we are,

or how casual,
we kinda like to eat around other people who are eating.

It's as if the Collective Unconscious offers a nagging little evaluation of every meal eaten in solitude, reminding the lone diner that a meal eaten alone is a lot less good that a meal eaten in company.

As witnesses, I call every scene
 of lunch table loners ever recorded on film.

 The why of this is a mystery to me. After all, who would think it a lonesome waste of effort to read alone, or jog alone, or work alone? Why is it admirable to study alone, and sad to eat alone? 

 Even the venerable Book of Genesis issues a summary judgement on the downside of dining in solitude- the first whiff of trouble in Paradise? It had nothing to do with fruit trees or reptiles. "It is not good for man to be alone" the story quotes, and all reputable authorities agree- that concerned thought began when Someone noticed that

Adam was skipping too many dinners.
(*note* I did not consult authorities, reputable or otherwise, before making that up.)

 The hunting, the gathering, the preparing- with all that work, I suppose it's really no wonder that dinner has always been considered a team sport.

 Imagine how hard the whole table-for-one gig would've been in the not-so-very long ago! Imagine being on your own for dinner when take out food 

was really food you took out

and when going out for dinner

was really eating, well... out.

So, it's a good thing  that with a certain twist of mind, this little suburban kitchen remains a playground, and it's the food itself that becomes the fun. It's a good thing that with certain sloshing of the brain pan, assumptions rearrange themselves and it becomes a minor luxury to ask only one's own tummy what and when it wants to be fed.

 And when dinner doesn't play right and mysterious mistakes are made? Having only one's own tummy to apologize to is a more-than-minor luxury. 

For example.

Something went a little wrong with the Brazilian Shrimp and pumpkin. (spoiler alert: the thing that went wrong? It was me.) 

This is ordinarily a simple, relatively quick and extraordinarily delicious dish- look:

canned tomatoes, onion, bell pepper and shrimp stirred together,
cream cheese melted in, instead of spread on the inside of the
pumpkin. Easy.

But there seem to be 2 L words and 2 D words that summarize the reasons why cooking for one seems a greater chore than cooking for two or more: Lassitude, Loneliness, Depression and Distraction. 

Not long after the filling was spooned into the pumpkin and the pumpkin was gently placed in the oven for a quick-finish bake, I fell victim to the second D and was caught up in a very interesting project that required my full attention (cookie decorating to the accompaniment of a X-files marathon). Two episodes and a forgotten pumpkin later, this is what had happened to dinner:

See those little wizened, mummified little shrimp fingers?
They are not supposed to look like that.

Had I not been alone it would have been embarrassing. Eaten alone, it was.....edible. 

The leftover filling did turn, with the addition of chicken broth and basil, into soup a couple of nights later, and here's what I learned: overcooked shrimp only gets more overcooked when you let it simmer in a soup pot. It was a pretty soup though, and the cream cheese in the filling made a tasty difference. Using the shrimp and pumpkin filling as a soup base is a good idea to tinker with, but next time

maybe without the stringy little wads of what-is-that-oh-shrimp.

Next up, corned beef. Now that went right in several ways.

First, I learned a new thing! Have you ever wondered why it's called corned beef,

when the only corn in it is the stuff the beef
ate before it was brisket?

I have. I've wondered if Corned beef was so named because it was invented in ye olde portion of England known as Cornwall, and if it was culinary relative of  Cornish hens. 

Not so! The word corn used to mean any sort of pellet shaped grain, and corned beef is simply a brisket prepared with spices and a whole lot of little pellet shaped grains of.....salt. (Salt.Yum.)

After giving me the treat of this new tidbit of trivia, that crock pot corned beef gave me this:

One of the yummiest dinners of the week. 

The homemade Russian dressing in the sandwich recipe was okay, but a nice bottle of Thousand Island would've saved some work, and tasted just as good on the sandwich.

And then, since the power of salty goodness just can't be stopped, the last of the corned beef turned into a tummy-filling hash-

That only looks like corned beef hash a la mode.
that's not ice cream on top,
it's a poached egg. And it was pretty good.

Meanwhile, the Home Audience remains in England, dining on all sorts of stereotypical British food. You know, Pizza, Curry, Lasagna...

But more about that on Tuesday.

For now, I hope this week,

when you find yourself hungry and alone,

that you give yourself something wonderful.

Because it's important

every once in awhile,

to affirm the value of your own life

by tending the needs of your own body

and the needs of your own soul.

Consider it a gift.

To you- from the one and only person

who can really understand your wish list.