I'm Cooking Again

For a while after I broke up with my ex-boyfriend, I didn't want to cook for anyone. When I went on dates, I wanted to be taken out and treated like I was special because I had spent so long doing special things for someone else and not getting that in return. I felt like it wasn't in me anymore to make a home-cooked meal for a guy. Because the way to a man's heart is through his stomach (supposedly), and I was not looking to get to any man's heart, I just couldn't do it. "Have you been to such-and-such restaurant?" I would offer.

When I would cook for my ex-boyfriend, I would feel happy I had done something so nice for someone else, but eventually I would be exhausted and rundown too. As long as I felt appreciated, I could continue to give. When the appreciation stopped, I wanted to stop.

I have this theory that the more you give without ever getting something in return, the emptier you get. I know it's supposed to be the opposite, that just giving in itself should make you feel like a better and more complete person, but it never seemed to work that way for me. I mean, for a while it did, but then it would get to the point where I felt like I'd given so much and not gotten nearly as much in return that I was hitting rock bottom. There was no fresh fuel supply to keep me going. And this wasn't all about just cooking, but cooking is one of the things that I know I go out of my way to do for someone else. I do enjoy it, but it's hard work. And when cooking for someone else, you want to be conscious of that other person's likes and dislikes. You alter recipes, you repeat their favorites, you simply aim to please. By the end of my six-year relationship with a guy who didn't like mushrooms, I was serving him beef stroganoff with extra mushrooms because I just didn't care anymore.

But lately (about eight months later), I think I've had a chance to recover. It feels like I've topped off the tank and am no longer running on empty. Today I found myself cutting potatoes, carrots, and onions; browning beef; and filling my crock pot at 10 a.m. Shortly after that I was mashing up chocolate wafer cookies and preparing the crust for a chocolate pudding pie.

I left the peas out of the beef stew, and I substituted semisweet chocolate for bittersweet in the chocolate pudding pie . . . because, suddenly, I care again. I'm cooking again, and it feels okay.

Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant

I'm in the middle of reading Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant, and I have to ask: What do you cook when you eat alone?

I don't always cook if it's just me for dinner. Sometimes I'll grab a hunk of cheddar cheese, a container of grape tomatoes, a fresh loaf of bread, and some olive oil, and that will be dinner. When I'm even lazier, some thin slices of American cheese from the deli on Saltine crackers does the trick. A bag of tortellini and a can of red sauce satisfies any cravings for Italian and doesn't take long to make. Now that I have a rice cooker, I often eat white rice with soy sauce; white rice with butter, cheese, and salt and pepper; or fried rice. Sometimes I make omelettes for dinner. And when I don't feel like extending any effort (even picking up the phone to order a pizza), I pop some Totino's pizza rolls in the microwave, add a little Sriracha for dipping, and plant myself on the couch.

Oddly, I do make eggplant occasionally. I peel it and slice it in rounds. Then I dip the rounds in flour, egg, and breadcrumb, and fry them in oil. When they're done, I cover the rounds with sauce and cheese. Any extras get layered between paper towels and put in the fridge for the next day.

I'd like to say I make extravagant dinners for myself, but I just feel like that's wasted effort . . . and usually wasted food. When I'm really in the mood to cook, I invite friends to have dinner with me. Then I go all out... dessert and everything.