It’s probably one of my favourite things to do: cook something delicious, a plate for just one. The full bells and whistles to make an indulgent meal just for myself. It started a few years ago when I was dog-sitting for my parents. I’d do a full food shop and, on a Friday night, I’d reserve time for something special. A little treat — something different, and certainly not scrambled together, brashly cooked within twenty minutes, and devoured without thought within two.
These solo dinners have transformed into somewhat of a tradition. One summer evening I grilled scallops with rosemary butter just because I could. On another, sliced roasted squash with giant couscous, torn mozzarella, rocket and a basil pesto. I sat in the garden with a glass of cold white wine and the sound of the evening birds to keep me company.
When I used to work for a PR agency, the best I could settle for was a 45-minute lunch break. It was the only period when I could get a bit of fresh air from the stuffiness of the cubicle in the corner. The girls and I would drop a text to each other on when to leave the office and we’d scurry to the Tesco Express, scanning the meal deal options. Or, if after payday, treat ourselves to a Costa drink or a chocolate bar. I spent nine months shoving food in my mouth between copywriting and emails. And then COVID happened. Suddenly, my lunchtimes were transformed into something far better and a bit easier on the soul and stomach. I could finally eat something homemade in the garden because there was nobody to count the minutes on my lunch; nobody to check their phone saying we should probably head back now. Sometimes I’d make lunch from scratch with my mum, sometimes she’d bring me something — Tamagoyaki (Japanese rolled omelette) with chives, or a simple pesto pasta. I came to realise that eating this way was far superior. Store-bought sandwiches no longer filled the hunger in my belly.
I switched jobs two years into the pandemic. The work I do now is different. I’m home four days a week, I get to freely cook during my lunch, unobserved. Dinner is the same and I can make it something special if I choose. I’ve been able to claw back time for myself. No more sitting on the train, reheating chicken and packet rice in a microwave when I get in the door. My life is more balanced, and it has changed how I want the rest of my career to look.
I rarely attempt to make fancy food. I wish I had the patience to do so, but I settle on putting more effort into the small things that matter — planning my meals so I always have something worthy to eat, lighting the rarely used long candlesticks, sitting at the table as opposed to the sofa, cooking a bigger portion just because having leftovers is that much more delightful the next day.
Making a little more fuss over my meals — pulling out the slow cooker to stew something for several hours, or grabbing dinner and sitting on the patio under a setting sun — it leaves something to be enjoyed, something to look forward to. A way to reset the day, even if just a few minutes.
A gorgeously soothing post, Natalie. Hurrah for solo eating - especially if it's scallops. Beautiful writing, as always.
A beautiful post! Since moving out of my parents I've been cooking for myself and it's so freeing! Do you have any cosy recipes you're willing to share with me? 🩷