Cooking for One: Give Me One Good Reason Not To

You know those crisp, early fall evenings when you just want it to be Thanksgiving already? It's as though, practically overnight, a little button switches inside my brain, sending my body into a pumpkin frenzy. I start burning pumpkin candles, eating Kaddo Bourani and making Pumpkin Custard--my "healthy" version of pumpkin pie, which is actually pretty healthy already. Just follow the Libby's recipe, substitute brown sugar for white sugar, and forgo the pie crust. Instead, bake it in a glass baking pan and scoop out the sweet filling. A pan of Pumpkin Custard in the oven fills the house with a divine, homey smell. A friend came over for dinner once, just as I had taken one out of the oven, and the first thing she said was "it smells like a home in here." In the midst of one of my periods of pumpkin overload, a roommate suggested Rachael Ray's pumpkin pasta. "I made a ton of it last year," she said. "I can't remember what it was for, but I made a ton and it was really good."

This particular young lady rarely cooked anything fancier for dinner than a bowl of pasta with butter and parmesan cheese, while, several days a week, I cooked delicious, gourmet meals for myself that were large enough to last through 4-5 meals. Seeing her simple meals always made me feel like I overindulged, and I was slightly miffed by the way she worded her suggestion. "Wait," I thought, "what do you mean 'what it was for?' Why not for yourself?" I hadn't seen the recipe, but it sounded like it would be cheap to make. Pasta, a can of pumpkin...maybe some olive oil or butter? None of those ingredients struck me as any sort of delicacy. They did strike me, however, as inexpensive, everyday ingredients put together in a way that would add variety to one's sack lunch or dinner-for-one-in-front-of-the-TV, especially if that person wasn't so inclined to put a whole lot of effort into their meals.

In fact, when I looked up the recipe, I learned that it's full name is "Penne-Wise Pumpkin Pasta," and that it was created to be a tasty, healthy meal for those on a budget. Granted, there's a little bit more to it than dumping a can of Libby's and some pasta together, but I still resented the idea that, for some people, tasty meals were reserved only for dinner parties, impressing men, or eating out. What is so wrong with cooking yourself a nice meal and having it to look forward to when you come home from work, or to bring in a sack lunch to heat up and enjoy during a break from your soul-sucking job? Doesn't it make everything so much more pleasant?

When I started reading Giulia Melucci's I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti a few days ago, which is a memoir of Melucci's life long search for romantic love, failed relationships, overarching love of the culinary arts and how those two areas of her life have always intertwined. At first, I thought Melucci to be a kindred spirit, but I was shocked when I read her admittance that, during a dating dry-spell, her cooking "slowed down outside of relationship and domesticity," and that cooking for others (i.e., a man) is part of its appeal. I've always thought it of utmost importance to do stuff, to have interests and hobbies--to build my life around things that I actually like doing. Things that I do for myself, rather than to impress others. Cooking for myself is chief among those things that I like doing, and I like that it also seems to say "hey, look at how good I am at taking care of myself."

My point is, if you like doing something, why not just do it? Why wait around for someone to do it with? As someone who has never been in a relationship, it probably comes naturally to do nice things for myself--I mean, what's the alternative? Being bored all the time and waiting for someone to walk into my life so that I can finally start living it? Ugh, no thanks. It saddened me when Melucci reluctantly admits that she doesn't begin cooking for herself until later in life, and that doing so is part of her acceptance that "being alone" is probably her destiny. She fills the chapter in which she discusses this with self-deprecating quips like, "if a single girl cooks a fabulous meal, and no one tastes it but me, does it really even exist?" and mentions how saddened she is by those delicious, impromptu meals made to keep leftover ingredients from going bad. You know, the kind that no one but she will ever taste because they can't ever really be re-created. But, what on God's green earth is wrong with that? Not that I care all that much what men think these days (No, I haven't turned into a lesbian, I just literally don't care anymore--take me, or leave me.) but aren't people who respect themselves enough to eat well, have hobbies and do things just ridiculously attractive? After all, I can't recall anyone ever saying "I married her because she was the most boring woman I've ever met!"