 “What We Eat When We Eat Alone” by Deborah Madison and Patrick McFarlin is the perfect book for the voyeur cum social anthropologist, though it is debatable whether or not these two terms are fundamentally different. Ever the supermarket voyeur, I relish the surreptitious glance into the contents of another’s cart. What are they eating? What exactly are they going to make with that? When we do find ourselves alone, however, it is our solitary search for sustenance that is one of our character-defining moments.
Perhaps the most efficient means of discussion on a subject such as eating alone is via an honest evaluation of one’s own experiences at table for one. Madison’s various anecdotes, sourced from a vast array of individuals, all find some common root in the reader’s own social repertoire. Even if you, yourself, aren’t lithe to eat rotisserie chicken over the sink and standing on one leg, you may know of a close friend who does.
However personal our solitary eating habits are, Madison notes her surprise at the openness encountered in each of her interviews. A veritable deluge of skeletons pour from the cupboards of agricultural workers, attorneys, divorcees, housewives and students alike. However quirky each go-to dish may be, it is in the similarity of sentiment; it is the shared shame, fear, or apparent relish present when eating alone that is fascinatingly constant at the bottom of each tale. The voyeur is satiated with deliciously appalling and incongruous creations—Frito pie, anyone?—and the human in all of us is secretly relieved that we are not alone, even though the table is set for just one.
Recipes are included, with a bit of tweaking for mass-appeal, though the dishes inspired by each are meant to eat in specific situations. Propped up on the bed, vertically posed on the couch (with a bit of newspaper as a napkin), and on-your-feet are a few favored locations for each momentary hero and heroine’s meal. Though I have deigned to offer specifics of each cuisine mentioned in the short book, I will relate one consistency found throughout, and present in my own weird culinary tradition—cottage cheese. I love it. I love it with egg yolk, I love it with sautéed mushrooms and onions, and I love it with apples. Others seem to love it too, though I would never have guessed judging by my own family’s admission of my obsession as “gross, and, really, a bit unseemly.”
So, thank you Deborah Madison and Patrick McFarlin; I hold my milk curd-stained spoon to you both. As I finish this review, with a pint of cottage cheese at the ready, I would certainly call “What We Eat When We Eat Alone” a recommended read. As an audience, we are given a glimpse at the culinary idiosyncrasies of others, only to find delicious camaraderie with our fellow man in each page.
-Natalie Fasano
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