What We Eat When We Eat Alone Part 7

4 TO 6 MEDIUM-SIZE CARROTS, PEELED.

1 FENNEL BULB, OR 1CELERY HEART, QUARTERED.

1 LARGE ONION, ROOT END INTACT, HALVED AND QUARTERED.

5 GARLIC CLOVES, PEELED.

1 BAY LEAF.

2 PINCHES DRIED THYME.

1 LEMON, QUARTERED.

2 CUPS CHICKEN STOCK.

SOFT POLENTA.

CHOPPED PARSLEY, MARJORAM, OR OREGANO TO FINISH.

1. Rinse, then pat dry the chicken and season it with salt and freshly ground pepper. Heat a few tablespoons olive oil in a deep pot, such as a Dutch oven, and brown the chicken over medium heat until golden. Since this will take about 15 minutes, you'll have plenty of time to peel carrots, quarter the fennel and onion, and peel the garlic.

2. Tuck the vegetables, garlic, bay leaf, thyme, and lemon quarters around the chicken, then pour in the chicken stock. (It will not cover the bird, but if you cover the pot, it won't dry out.) Bring just to a boil, then lower the heat, cover the pot, and cook gently until the chicken is done, about an hour for whole, less for parts.

3. To serve, spoon warm polenta into a wide, shallow pasta plate or soup bowl. If you cooked a whole chicken, carve off whatever parts you wish to eat and lay them around the polenta along with some of the vegetables. Spoon broth around all, drizzle olive oil over the top, and add a sprinkling of herbs and plenty of freshly ground pepper.

Three or Four Ways to Eat Chicken Soup Almost Because the vegetables will soften and become less appealing once they're reheated, enjoy them the first one or two times you eat the dish. After that, serve the chicken over rice and flavor the broth with a pinch of c.u.min, minced jalapeno, and cilantro. Finally, use the moist meat for sandwiches or a chicken salad, and use any extra broth to enhance a soup or risotto.

Jerked Chicken We were long in coming to jerk sauce, but having made it, we fully appreciate why some of our solo eaters described what sounded like enormous mounds of jerked chicken for their eat-alone foods. It's that good. Still, it's a lot of food. But because grilled, jerked meats are good party food-you want to share the whole hot, sticky experience with others-we suspect these men are entertaining.

There are a million jarred jerk sauces-just look on the Internet. But we suggest making your own, because it's an amazing thing to work with all the pungent spices and searing chiles.

Serve with the steamed kale with sesame oil and rice wine vinegar, brown or white rice, and black-eyed peas. The wine jelly makes a much-needed cooling dessert.

1 SMALL ONION, ROUGHLY CHOPPED.

4 SCALLIONS, CHOPPED.

3 GARLIC CLOVES, PEELED.

2 HABANERO PEPPERS, QUARTERED.

1 TABLESPOON BROWN SUGAR.

1 TEASPOON GROUND ALLSPICE.

1 TEASPOON GROUND BLACK PEPPER.

12 TEASPOON GROUND NUTMEG 14 TEASPOON GROUND CINNAMON 2 TEASPOONS SALT.

3 TABLESPOONS FRESH LIME JUICE.

1-12 TABLESPOONS SOY SAUCE 3 TABLESPOONS OLIVE OR CANOLA OIL.

3 POUNDS CHICKEN, CUT UP.

1. Put all the ingredients except the chicken in a blender or food processor and puree until smooth. Pour it over the chicken pieces, put them in a ziplock plastic bag, and squish it around so that everything is in contact with the marinade. Refrigerate overnight or over the course of a day, occasionally turning the meat.

2. When ready to cook, let the chicken come to room temperature for an hour.

3. If grilling, which is ideal, make a wood fire or charcoal fire and wait until the coals are ash-covered and the heat is no longer super hot. Or heat a gas grill. Brush your clean grill with oil because the sauce tends to stick, then grill the chicken, skin side down first so that it gets a nice crust. Turn to brown on both sides. (You might want to subdue flare-ups with a mist of water.) Once browned, move the chicken to a cooler part of the grill, cover, and cook until done, about 30 minutes or more, if the coals have started to cool off. (Large legs might take longer, if you've included them; wings less.) 4. To bake the chicken, which is also very good but minus the wood smoke, heat the oven to 400 degrees F. Lay the chicken pieces in one or two shallow dishes in a single layer, and bake, turning once, until crusty and browned, about 45 minutes.

How to Eat Alone While it's still light out set the table for one: a red-linen table cloth, one white plate, a bowl for the salad and the proper silverware.

Take out a three-pound leg of lamb, rub it with salt, pepper and c.u.min, then push in two cloves of garlic splinters.

Place it in a 325-degree oven and set the timer for an hour.

Put freshly cut vegetables into a pot with some herbs and the crudest olive oil you can find.

Heat on a low flame.

Clean the salad.

Be sure the dressing is made with fresh dill, mustard and the juice of hard lemons.

Open a bottle of good three-year-old zinfandel and let it breathe on the table.

Pour yourself a gla.s.s of cold California chardonnay and go to your study and read.

As the story unfolds you will smell the lamb and the vegetables.

This is the best part of the evening: the food cooking, the armchair, the book and bright flavor of the chilled wine.

When the timer goes off toss the salad and prepare the vegetables and the lamb. Bring them out to the table. Light the candles and pour the red wine into your gla.s.s.

Before you begin to eat, raise your gla.s.s in honor of yourself.

The company is the best you'll ever have.

-Daniel Halpern.

from Selected Poems Daniel Halpern.

Alone at Last.

"Basically, it's about comforting carbs and good salt."

Amelia Saltsman, cook and food writer.

Women (and some men) who are tired of cooking for those ingrates called children and the occasional spouse, who are weary of cleaning up after meals and bored with eating on a schedule that says it's dinnertime when really it's time for something else, know the pleasure of being alone at last in one's kitchen. It's an enjoyable moment when we get to eat whatever and whenever we want-and wherever, too, for that matter.

Like staring into a closet filled with clothes and finding nothing to wear, sometimes we gaze into our refrigerators and whether they're double Sub-Zeros or tiny under-the-counter numbers, we find nothing to eat. Sometimes there is nothing to eat. I have seen women's refrigerators with little more than bottles of water, some cartons of restaurant remains, and ice cream in the freezer. Others may have food in them, but it can appear useless unless, of course, we have the eye to pick out those bits and pieces that can eventually become a frittata, a salad, or a more-than-decent sandwich. After all, we do need to feed ourselves something more substantial, not to mention ceremonial, than Sad Girl's Macaroni and Cheese, which, I've recently been told, consists of boiled spaghetti with pregrated Parm sprinkled on top. At the very least, it helps to be ready for those times we're alone with a modestly well-stocked refrigerator and cupboard, that at least contain eggs, some canned tomatoes, bread or cereal, perhaps, and a few good vegetables.

When it comes to the rare night alone, women can get pretty basic and simply go for the leftovers. Says one food writer, "I often make a salad and just throw in whatever form of protein I'm having. And if I have a pot of soup or stew hanging around, I'll have that, and that's just fine."

But there are those who disdain leftovers, thus depriving themselves of that time-honored meal option. They will never take the uneaten half of their meal home from a restaurant, nor stash that bit of whatever remains from dinner into a container for later. This means that each time they want to eat, they have to start from scratch.

Some women simply dislike the challenge of cooking for themselves. "How am I going to cut up half a carrot?" one asks me, her voice practically caustic with frustration at something so unreasonable as this. "And what am I supposed to do with the other half?"

Sometimes the no-leftovers and don't-like-to-cook-for-one people are the same. If you're in the camp that likes leftovers, you'll probably just cut up the whole carrot, eat half, and worry no more. These are questions that those of us who are leftover eaters can't imagine asking, but they are vivid and troubling for others.

Sandwiches were the solution to this set of problems for one woman-not making them, mind you, but going to the deli and getting either a half if she has just a normal appet.i.te, or, if she's really hungry, a whole sandwich to take home. Here was a parcel of food she could enjoy by herself without fear of leftovers.

Some women admit that when they are finally alone they revert to those personal foods that are too odd to share-the cookie dough, the saltines crushed into a gla.s.s of milk. "It's comforting," says the author of that last idea, and when comfort is needed, women don't mind admitting it. Others might turn to the infamous bowl of cereal or microwaved popcorn for dinner. Relying on such insta-foods, cobbling dinner out of leftovers, or dining on a piece of toast smeared with peanut b.u.t.ter doesn't necessarily mean that we don't care for ourselves. Rather, it suggests that we're on vacation from routine and taking a break from caring for others. And, in fact, popcorn can be pretty good. b.u.t.ter and sea salt are great on it, but what about truffle oil? Olive oil and smoked paprika? Or the fabulous Indian-spiced popcorn of Chef Floyd Cardoz? (And you don't need a microwave to make popcorn. It's actually quite fun to pop your own in a skillet, listening to the kernels ping against the lid and guessing if they'll all be popped when you finally dare to look.) Writer Fran McCullough, who has no end of menu options up her sleeve having worked with many cookbook writers, knows just what she'll eat when she's alone at last. "I'll have my favorite Paris lunch-smoked salmon on a slice of b.u.t.tered sourdough bread with sliced onion, capers, and a squeeze of lemon." And what could be easier to make for oneself? A Paris lunch sounds far more respectable than takeout, and yet it's certainly quicker than other shortcut foods, like mac and cheese. And when you arrange your Paris lunch on your favorite plate and sit down to enjoy it, you know that you are treating yourself well.

Amanda Archibald, who is French and English, which might explain why she is so civilized, expresses what I think of as the feminine ideal of solo eating. "Being alone or among people does not change what I eat," Amanda says. And this is unusual. "I may stand at the counter in my kitchen, especially during aperitif time or while preparing dinner, but then, I sit down to eat. Always. And I have no food secrets like chocolate h.o.a.rding."

Amanda will have cooked her dinner using vegetables from her CSA box, delivered from a nearby farm; it will probably include a special cheese; and she will have opened a bottle of wine to enjoy with her meal. Many women enjoy having something to drink with their solitary dinners.

"I'll open a nice bottle when he's gone," says Melissa, a magazine editor, "but I won't spend much time cooking since I do that when he's here."

"I have a kir while I'm preparing dinner," says writer Sylvia Thompson, "then a gla.s.s of wine with my meal."

"I'll have wine if some is open," adds Maureen Stein.

In defense of chocolate h.o.a.rding, I have to refer to Joanne Neft, who admits with no shame whatsoever that she hides a box of See's caramels with walnuts in a secret place. She says, "I can make a one-pound box last three months or longer. There's something about the safety of knowing where I squirreled it away and that it's there to satisfy my sweet tooth when I need it."

But when it comes to solitary meals, chocolate isn't necessarily on Joanne's menu. Thrilled to find herself home alone, she says, "I love it when he's gone. It's quiet and the house tends to be less messy. I can go to bed at 6:30 or wait until 11:00. I can sit in a bubble bath and read for two hours. I play my opera music very loud. I get on the phone with a friend or two and we talk for many minutes. And, I tend to get in a bread-making mood. Funny, isn't it?"

And this is when she takes the opportunity to cook some of her favorite foods, like pickled herring and caramelized onions over mashed potatoes.

"So the truth will be out," Joanne confesses, "when no one is looking (and no one is around to complain), I buy a large jar of pickled herring (not the kind rolling around in sour cream), boil enough potatoes for mas.h.i.+ng with either cream or good b.u.t.ter, and while the potatoes are cooking, I caramelize some sweet onions, then top the potatoes with them and a good portion of herring. It's a silly German thing."

Just when I have decided I want to give this dish a try, Joanne adds, "Now that I think about it, it doesn't sound too appetizing, does it? But it works for the 100 percent German in me."

The dish is good. And it's pretty, too, with the blue-skinned slices of herring snuggling among the golden onions, a spoonful of sour cream melting down the potatoes.

A young writer named Rae Paris says Tater Tots were once her secret eat-alone food. "But they're not necessarily an eat-alone food anymore," she says. "My husband and I have been together for long enough that I've stopped caring if he's around when I eat them. And now he likes them, too. But I've gone back to eating them when I'm alone and he's gone, so I can have them to myself. I can't believe that I've become territorial about Tater Tots!" she says. "Tater Tots with ketchup. They remind me of elementary school-fourth grade, crushes, lunch lines, that oddly warm and comforting strange cafeteria smell-like wet concrete after a warm Los Angeles rain."

My sister has discovered, as have others, that being home alone and not having to cook or clean up for anyone but herself means that time expands. Here's the strategy she used for a week alone last summer. "For dinner I made an omelet, picked tomatoes from the garden, sliced them, and put pepper on them. I drank water or a gin and tonic. I had a few almonds. And with all the time I saved? I cleaned out my closet, including all the nooks and crannies. Then I cleaned out all the cupboards in the kitchen. I cleaned out the bookshelf in my office. I bought curtains and put them up in the bedroom-I've been promising for three years to do that-and I talked to a consultant about converting to solar heat. I walked the dog every day. Twice. And I read."

Despite the pleasures and gains that can be reaped by being alone at home, not every woman is delighted about those times when she's in her house without her family. "Frankly, I try never to eat alone," says ceramicist Sandy Simon, who, on a normal day, would be cooking for her husband and one or two of her kids. "It's lonely, but I'd never eat out alone-that's really lonely. So I eat in my house. Probably some shrimp or a steak. And a salad." Then she adds, "I do eat less if I'm alone, though."

Like Sandy, I don't enjoy eating alone that much, either, although I never mind it in a restaurant. So the two nights each week that Patrick stays at his studio, I invariably invite a friend over, eat with a neighbor, or I skip. Sometimes it feels good to just not eat anything at all. Days alone can be good for fasting, if you're inclined to do that.

The simple, oval egg, in a variety of forms, is the choice for many women. Eggs manage to be comforting, nutritious, and quick to prepare. "Eggs are my go-to food when I'm alone," a woman in a workshop confides. "My favorite pan is a small cast-iron skillet that was my grandmother's. It holds just one egg."

"Eggs," declares Fran McCullough, having given the question more thought. "My favorite is Judy's eggs with crunchy breadcrumbs, which is kind of elegant in a very humble way."

Adding b.u.t.tery crisp breadcrumbs to your eggs lifts them from the ordinary but without straying from the basic ingredients. It's only the form that changes, but that changes everything. Converting a slab of bread into rough little crumbs and then getting them crisp and delicious takes that tiny bit of extra care that transforms the ordinary into something that is, as Fran says, "kind of elegant." Add some asparagus and a gla.s.s of Sancerre and you have a fine little supper for any night of the week, one you could even share with others.

As powerful attractors for all kinds of fillings, frittatas and flat omelets are also a good way for the solo eater to go. You can fill them with ricotta cheese or leftover spaghetti, or you can make them with something fresh-sauteed spinach, mushrooms, caramelized onions, or asparagus. Frittatas are more substantial than an omelet and grander than a boiled egg, yet they're not any heavier or even much more trouble, especially if you enjoy slowing down at the end of the day to slice a few vegetables and chop a few herbs. In the end, frittatas feel more like a meal, more like dinner. And you might even end up with leftovers for lunch the next day.

Kim Carlson, publisher of the webzine Culinate, doesn't get to eat alone very often. "Not yet," she says, thinking of a time when her children will be grown. But one day she found herself home alone. "I cut up chunks of good whole wheat sourdough and browned them in a little olive oil in a saute pan. Then I poached an egg. The croutons went into a bowl and the egg went on top with a little salt. It wasn't ambitious, but it was memorable! Was it because I was alone?" Kim mused, "Or because I actually cooked just for myself?"

When asked what she cooked when home alone, Emily Hartzog, a lithe surgeon who has spent a fair amount of time in England, said, "A hard-boiled egg sandwich," and left it at that. When asked to elaborate, she explained, "You have to gob on the mayo, slice the eggs very thin, salt and pepper generously, and add translucent slices of tomato. They sell these on the trains in England; it's practically the pinnacle of their cuisine." It could be (if done with good quality everything-eggs, tomatoes, bread, and mayonnaise) quite a fine sandwich.

"Scrambies," says cookbook author Martha Rose Shulman, but she doesn't mean the kind of scrambled eggs that are hastily done in a minute or less. Rather she's thinking about eggs that are creamy-smooth because they're cooked very, very slowly over a tiny flame. "But if Liam is there," (Liam is Martha's son) "the scrambled eggs get cooked faster over higher heat since he hasn't the patience or interest to wait for slowly cooked ones." Compromise is just what happens when another comes to the table.

Kate Manchester, publisher of Edible Santa Fe, takes up the theme of compromise. "Eating alone is nothing less than a luxurious, even decadent, act," she says, "because I get to think about myself. I don't have to think about someone else." And when the opportunity arrives, she tends to return to her past, which involves seafood since she's from Rhode Island. "I find myself searching for that connection," she says. But because good fish isn't always an option in New Mexico, she has a back-up menu. "If it isn't seafood, I'll make johnny cakes and eat them with syrup and b.u.t.ter. I'd never even think of making them for my boyfriend or eating them when he's here," she reflects. "It's a stolen moment when I can cook for my own palate."

The one-unit meal, like johnny cakes, sidesteps the notion of a square meal with several foods skillfully balancing one another. Food writer Amelia Saltsman, who has no end of beautiful foods available to her from the Santa Monica farmers market, says that, in the end, she may just have a baked potato with b.u.t.ter and salt. "Basically, it's about comforting carbs and good salt," she says.

Other such ultra-simple meals mentioned include a baked sweet potato with goat cheese; rye toast b.u.t.tered and then rubbed with garlic; polenta; or a solitary vegetable-an entire cauliflower, a big artichoke, pounds of asparagus, or potatoes. An authority on Greek food and the author of gorgeous books on the same, Aglaia Kremezi says, "My dish is fried potatoes with yogurt sauce-thinly sliced potatoes, lots of them, but not sliced too thin, not like chips. I fry them in olive oil until soft and only slightly crunchy, and eat them with a sauce made of yogurt, crumbled feta, and mustard. It's no big deal, but it is really delicious and part of my solo ritual. I eat at the table, with a gla.s.s of wine, of course."

Knowing Aglaia's food firsthand and how good it is, we tried these potatoes and liked them a lot. They are the ultimate in indulgent oily little dishes. And the sauce was good on everything we could find to put it on. But because we weren't sure exactly what she had in mind, we asked for more specifics. Mustard, it turns out, was crucial. "Add enough so that it's not a very pretty color," she said, and that made the difference.

People told us, though not nearly as often as we would have expected, that when left alone in their own kitchens, they resorted to eating cereal for dinner. A little cloud of shame seems to hover around the cereal eaters, as if they know they really could do better and perhaps should try. One describes mixing different dried cereals together for dinner, a habit to which her whole extended family is committed. A man confesses to eating Life Cereal with Coffee-Mate. But the cereal supper isn't always about convenience, exhaustion, or lack of imagination. And the cereal isn't always cold. "When I'm home alone," writes a friend, "the thing I like most is that the moment is different from the normal routine of planning and preparing dinner for family or friends. So I often have breakfast for dinner-a bowl of steel-cut oats. I mean, who says why certain grains are for breakfast and others are for dinner? And in the evening I can linger over my 'breakfast' instead of hurrying off to start the day."

Who says, indeed? Breakfast for dinner, and we're back to eggs, a favorite and for good reason. "Eggs are simple, warm, and fairly quick," says peach farmer and writer Mas Masamoto. "But they have another function, too. As breakfast foods, they signal the start of something, even if it is mid-morning or the end of the day. I usually write in the very early morning-that's my first day. Then I work outside-that's my second day. But when I'm by myself, I start my third day with an omelet dinner, then retire to my desk and start writing again."

The solo meal we work into our lives, especially if we're busy with careers and small children, might be something we cobble together once, then go back to again and again. A young woman who's busy working as a caterer and raising a family always turns to a concoction she calls her fake Thai wrap.

"For this," she says, after apologizing that it's not real Thai, "you take peanut b.u.t.ter and spread it over a tortilla, add a big squirt of sriracha sauce, lettuce, bean sprouts, and pile on sliced carrots, basil, and mint." Hearing this, another woman, whose children are grown, added that her mother always made what she called a Texas summer sandwich, consisting of peanut b.u.t.ter, mayonnaise, tomatoes, cuc.u.mbers, and lettuce on bread. Both these sounded strange to me, but when I cast them as a kind of Thai salad with thick peanut sauce that happens to be served with tortillas or bread instead of a rice paper wrap or slippery noodles, they seemed more plausible. The mayonnaise might be problematic for some, though. Does it really belong with peanut b.u.t.ter? Some say "yes!" My high school French teacher thought it did, on something he called a hotsy-totsy bilala, essentially a peanut b.u.t.ter and mayonnaise sandwich. Now that I think about it, this must have been his eat-alone food.

You might a.s.sume that women are big salad eaters when they're alone, and some are. Maureen Callahan makes, and has shared, a beautiful summer salad of bulgur with tomatoes and shrimp; another woman forages in her garden for lettuce, cabbage, mint, purslane, and sorrel, then takes her salad meal to her balcony. Martha Rose, as might be expected for a vegetable-oriented cook, tends to make herself a salad when she gets to eat alone. "But a really nice salad," she insists, "with endives, a coddled egg, feta, herbs. If I have mushrooms or beets, I add them, too. Or walnuts. Or pine nuts."

But salads aren't for everyone. One woman confesses that she avoids having salads, even if they are healthy. Why? "I dislike making salads!" she says. "All that chopping and mixing and then having to craft a dressing; it's way too much work! For batch days, I go to a sandwich. There's something supremely satisfying about eating bread. If I can slather onto two slices of bread a great spread-like a roasted peppersun-dried tomatocream cheese spread-and then pile on the veggies, sliced chicken or turkey, and finish it off with tons of lettuce, well, that's a hugely satisfying meal." It sounds a little like a salad to me, only stuffed between slices of bread.

Consider sentiment as something that drives a solo menu-cooking in a grandmother's skillet or making a grandmother's recipe. "After I first left home," says Marsha Weiner, "I found myself seeking time alone to make the dinner I had every Tuesday at my grandmother's house-salmon cakes, egg noodles with sour cream, and a wedge of iceberg lettuce with Russian dressing-you know, the mayonnaise, ketchup, and lemon stuff. I vividly recall my grandmother serving this on the dishes that came from the box of DUZ detergent, a white plate with a black rim and a red rosebud right in the middle. This was for me, then, pure comfort food," she recalls. "But now, if my husband is gone, I'll make myself things that we don't enjoy together, like fish or pasta. Usually I'll rent a favorite movie. But the salmon cake, noodles, and iceberg salad have been known to make an appearance even now."

As with men, women will cook things when they're alone that their husbands don't like. "Kidneys!" whispers Martha Rose, imitating her stepmother's breathless excitement at the thought of indulging in a favorite food disliked by her husband. "When Max goes out, I make myself kidneys!"

And then, there's the repet.i.tive menu. Nancy c.o.o.nridge, who produces a fine goat cheese near Pie Town, New Mexico, says, "When I'm alone I eat organic chevron (goat meat), ground and topped with my organic goat cheese. I have that with a big gla.s.s of my organic raw goat milk. If my gardens are producing, I might have a salad with lettuce. Gee, if I could just grow a decent tomato, I would always have the perfect meal on hand."

This triple goat menu punctuated with salad is not that strange to those who raise food for a living. Mas Masamoto, on occasion, has also eaten from a limited menu based on what he grows, namely peaches and raisins. "Some of my worst habits come when I'm alone," he confesses, "and I slip into a creative mode, abusing myself by eating as a second act. I've had peach dinners some nights. That's it, just peaches. Grapes when in season with a dessert of raisins. Sometimes I'll add variety and eat apples and peaches and raisins. I've gotten some fairly intense stomachaches with all-fruit meals. But what's better than eating your own homegrown food?" Mas ponders before adding, "I suppose it would be healthier if I grew more variety on the farm."

And finally, there are those who turn to vegetables when dining alone. Many years ago an Australian friend told me the dish she made when she was at last home alone was canned tomatoes stewed in a little cream and spooned over toast. She said that it provided a soothing kind of nourishment. At the time I thought it was some odd Australian thing, but others have brought up stewed tomatoes as well. If you squint, it is just a few steps away from papa al pomodoro and even closer perhaps to those wonderful soft, sweet tomato-and-bread pudding ca.s.seroles you find in cafeterias in the South.

Rosalind c.u.mmins, a woman who, among other things, has made a solar gingerbread house, goes for tomatoes on toast for dinner. "Tomatoes sauteed in b.u.t.ter and served on toast with basil," she says. "Really, anything with tomatoes. And mushrooms on toast are good too." After Roz brought up tomatoes on toast, I gave them a try and now they've become my solo lunchtime staple-so easy, and warm in winter too.

When Roz was growing up, her family ate mushrooms on toast with a little bit of sherry on top. "I didn't know that other families didn't all have 'sherry shakers' on the table," she recalls. "I distinguished myself by asking for some sherry for my mushrooms at a friend's house. I guess I was destined to become a food writer."

Vegetables on toast, or supper sandwiches, as I call them, are one of my favorite solo dinners when I do cook. Basically, these are larger than usual bruschetta. Like Roz, I'm happy with just about any braised or sauteed vegetable piled over toast that's been brushed with olive oil and rubbed with garlic. The final touch is a shaving of cheese-a nice young or aged Asiago, a goat Gouda, or, in truth, whatever cheese happens to be around. The cheese melts into the vegetables and gives them that extra punch of flavor. It's a sandwich, in that bread is involved, but it's also a knife-and-fork food, which makes it that much more civilized, more of a sit-down meal.