Read Online Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant by Jenni Ferrari-Adler - Free Book Online Page B

roasted in olive oil and salt and pepper, with just a little lemon over it.
    And thankfully, it is gone. Mirage or no, there is not a stalk left in the field. There is so much in the market—eggplants, carrots, beets, bell peppers, red and blue and brown potatoes, fade-to-white leeks—that I don’t have to champion any one thing at all—until the fall, when I will be the Empress of Pears.
    HOW TO BE AN ASPARAGUS SUPERHERO
    Begin at the first hint of asparagus in your area.
    Pick asparagus in the early morning while it is still dewy, or find people who wake up on dewy mornings and pick it for you. Have some coffee.
    Eat the first piece raw. Test your biceps.
    Week One: Cook the asparagus unadulterated for as long as possible. Keep some eggs and starches—rice, pasta, bread—around, and just enough meat to use as a condiment, like some bacon or a jar of anchovies.
    See how fast you can run, how high you can jump.
    Alone or in company, use your fingers.
    Have plenty of fluids. Pee regularly.
    Tell everyone you never skip a day. Eat to impress.
    If you use the grill, make sure to have a steak or a fish to put on it too, so you won’t be disappointed when you lose all the asparagus to the coals.
    Week Six: Just when you think you cannot be a superhero any longer, break asparagus into bits to hide it inside things.
    Week Seven (The End): Roast one last time. Squeeze lemon to finish. Finish.

Thanks, but No Thanks
COURTNEY ELDRIDGE
    L isten, truth is, I don’t cook. As a matter of fact, I hate to cook, I really do. I mean, I love to eat, I just hate to cook. So I married a man who cooks, and he was an amazing cook—a chef, really. Then again, great chef, lousy husband. Now there’s a surprise.
    Anyhow, now that I’m alone again, or rather, now that I’m single again, everything my ex taught me to cook turns my stomach. Which is a shame, really: his artichokes with vinaigrette were fantastic. His Israeli salad was a piece of cake. And that other dish…what’s it called? It’s Middle Eastern, and there are numerous variations, but all you need is a can of tomatoes, an onion, a couple eggs, and bread…. No, I can’t remember what it’s called.
    Just as well, I suppose, because I can’t make those things. I mean, I know how to make them, I just can’t bring myself to make anything that reminds me of my ex. Which takes me back to my long history with rice. Rice and sugar. Rice and soy sauce. Rice and beans. Oh, there you go—there’s something: my rice and beans are edible. Good thing, too, because that’s about all I can afford to eat these days. Honestly, there are days I’m still scraping change for the subway, so, fortunately or unfortunately, cooking is the least of my worries.
    You know, the other day, I was eavesreading on the subway, and there was an ad in the paper that said Get Your Gourmet On… We’re talking AM New York, okay? Of course I had to laugh, but this whole fine dining, pop-star chef, Food TV craze, it’s gone too far. But what really kills me are these people who say things like, Oh, I could never live without great food and wine. And on one hand, I know what they’re saying, and I try not to be self-righteous, I really do. But on the other hand, I just smile, thinking, I’m sorry, but…do you know what an asshole you sound like saying that? Actually, come to think of it, my ex-husband used to say that. Gee, what a coincidence, huh? Joke.
    All I’m saying is that we came from completely different worlds, and to be perfectly honest, there was a time that had no small appeal. I was fascinated. I mean, come on—when we started dating, I was working two or three part-time jobs, trying to write, subsisting on a steady diet of Uncle Ben’s, and he was a master sommelier with a degree in restaurant management who’d moved to New York to open his own restaurant. So of course we had very different views on the place and importance of food in our lives, that was a given. What I didn’t know