https://soundcloud.com/user-457730320/on-eating-alone?utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

For an audio version of this post (read by yours truly) -

It would be a fair point to say that while I'm likely one of the most food-obsessed members of my family, our clan is filled with strong opinions about food.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Umma will warn when I'm putting sugar in my tea. "That's too much sweetener! You know your Halabuhji was diabetic. You're more prone to get diabetes - you should really be more careful!"

Even my loving husband will sometimes lodge a comment or two. As an athlete and a health-conscious diner who drinks green juices for fun, he'll eye my loaded plate of mashed potatoes, vegan beef patty, and freezer nuggets with some concern. "That plate might...look, erm, nicer with some greens!" he might say.

"Dinner alone is one of life's pleasures," Laurie Colwin wrote in her essay Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant. "Certainly cooking for oneself reveals man at his weirdest," she continued. "People lie when you ask them what they eat when they are alone. A salad, they tell you. But when you persist, they confess to peanut butter and bacon sandwiches deep fried and eaten with hot sauce, or spaghetti with butter and jam."

Colwin made a ritual of eating alone, which was partly necessitated by her tiny Greenwich Village apartment. Thankfully, I needn't attempt to cook for myself in a kitchen that feels like a box of animal crackers, but with James leaving daily for what is lately the back to school rush of things, I find myself reveling in the space to eat however I darn well please.

No peanut butter and bacon sandwiches here (though I've found, as a non-meat eater, there are some people in my eating tribe who do some really clever things with tofu to mimic bacon). But I indulgently made a space on my brunch table for all my recent cravings.

And with no one to say a word otherwise, this table set for one was as happy as a clam.