I recently came across an interesting new cookbook, Serve Yourself: Nightly Adventures in Cooking for One, by Washington Post food editor Joe Yonan. Though I haven’t purchased it yet, the concept of this book is intriguing to me, as well as some of the lively debate that has ensued following its publication. Why do we attach an inherent sadness to a meal cooked by and for the same person, and that person only?
People often complain about the hassle or challenge of cooking for one, but I actually find that I learn many important lessons from the risks I’m willing to take in the kitchen when I know I am the only person who has to deal with the repercussions of experimentation. Also, cooking alone is at times the most comforting way to cook – it allows us to feed our most personal cravings without having to worry about pleasing a crowd. I fully embrace the beauty and joy of preparing food for friends and loved ones, without a doubt. There are few things that make me happier than feeding the people I care about. However, there is also something special, if not a bit more subtle and mysterious, about the food we make for ourselves when we are flying solo in the kitchen.
This simple dish of roasted asparagus and soft-scrambled eggs is a prime example of the kind of cooking I like to do for myself. As Yonan recently said in a Washington Post article, “to me, cooking is the greatest act of self-appreciation,” and I tend to agree with this sentiment. This dish takes less than 15 minutes to prepare, and is dead simple – in essence, you preheat the oven, prep the asparagus, and scramble a couple of eggs (perhaps with a touch of cream if you’re feeling decadent) while the asparagus quickly roasts under a thin slick of olive oil, salt and pepper. But the result of these few moments in the kitchen truly feel like a gift – the verdant, yet smoky deliciousness of roasted in-season asparagus coupled with the soft richness of the eggs make for a meal that is both comforting and nourishing, and an apt reminder that there can be beauty in solitude, in the kitchen or otherwise.
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