The Pleasures of Cooking for One
If you’re in the conversation of cooking, you know the names of Julia Child, James Beard, and Judith Jones. It’s no challenge, it’s no surprise to learn I read and revere this third name—especially me, who is also in the conversation of food writing, but it may be surprising that I avoided her books for years.
The Pleasures of Cooking for One sounded so twee, so dear, that I could not make myself pick it up. Her husband died, so now she’s an expert? This is my unkind first reaction, but then came the jacket photograph: a generous ramekin with cheese soufflé and a modest glass of white wine, a pewter napkin holder, the cloth napkin itself, and the fork, to the right of the gold banded plate.
To the right of the plate. In the Midwest of my childhood, forks did not live to the right of the plate, and if you ate alone, it was either toast at the sink or a Swanson’s TV dinner (Salisbury steak, blueberry muffin, peas, mashed potatoes). In front of me, a rule broken and I had to have this book.
As with the fantastic Rose Carrarini’s book, Breakfast, Lunch, Tea, about the many little meals at the Rose Bakery, Ms. Jones is here for the techniques more than the recipes. She amends, early on, that her portions allow her add-ons such as crusty bread and a side salad but that a young athlete may be hungry enough to triple the recipe with confidence. As Ms. Jones also lays out the stores in the pantry and the refrigerator that allow for spontaneous meals, whether one has been grocery shopping or not, someone like me, who loves home and hearth to a point that would be considered agoraphobic, can truly whip up a little something and feel nourished in so many ways. For stir frying vegetables, she sends readers to their own cupboards for inspiration, and reveals how many variations are staring them down from their own leftovers in the refrigerator. And she nudges me, with grace and some implied elegance, toward kidney pie and others uses of organ meats, and I am ready at last to try these.
My husband had a phrase for the careful efficiency of the French cook, making use of every little opportunity seasonally, economically, and with flavor at the forefront: la bonne femme. He did not invent the phrase, or the definition, but I have met her at last. Judith Jones makes every meal a pleasure, and in the age of the overused phrase, “self-care,” she was out there decades ago, leading that gentle, sustaining charge.
