EATING AS A SOLITARY VICE

There was a peculiar smell in the elevator, just before eight o'clock. Some of the Indian engineers several floors below must have sent out for dinner. Indians, as you know, eat some mighty strange things.

Such as vegetarian pizza. Which does have broccoli, but does not have anchovies.
That, at least, is what I think they had.

It surely must be horrible to be an Indian engineer in San Francisco's financial district on a weekend. Other than strange delivery pizza, there's the Golden Arches. No real tiffin to be had.

I hope for their sake that they have a bottle of hot sauce and a jar of good pickle squirreled away somewhere in their cubicles for that cheese pie. They needn't worry about shocking the gora-log with the culinary depravity of achaar and lal-mirchwalli condiments - for one thing, it was crazy white folks who invented vegetarian pizza with broccoli florets, for another thing, modern Wasps tend not to be employed in such difficult fields as engineering and hardly ever any more even in something as intellectually challenging as pizza-making either.

Pizza: it's the culinary equivalent of mathematics.

Actually, I too have little to do with both of those fields these days.
Years ago I made a living as a draughtsman, and I used to enjoy making my own pizza.
Back when, I was accustomed to preparing a lot of basic building blocks for subsequent zesty culinary experiments, and when the ripened tomatoes were plump and sweet, a pizza dough was easily made and set aside to rise. 
Do something else that requires attention for a while, then once the dough is right, flatten it out, stretch it, dress the top, and shove it in the oven.
Some of the lovely tomatoes will have been pulped in the blender for the pizza, the rest are being simmered down to a nice thick goo, with the merest pinch of cinnamon and ginger.
Once cool, it will be apportioned among the ice cube trays so that whenever I want I can add a rubicund touch to a stew or curry.

For the same reason, there was browned bone stock in the refrigerator, condensed to the stage that it resembled marmite. A little bit added meant a lot of flavour.
Home-made yellow curry paste, sambals and chili pastes, even a peppy coconut broth.
Plus various condiments and spicy oil-based pickles.
Home-made hotsauces, nimbu achaar.

The contents of the refrigerator are rather more boring nowadays.

I seldom eat at home anymore.

Odd.


加少少陳皮, 白果, 及腐竹伴煮
Gaa siu siu chan pei, baak gwo, gap fu juk pun jyu
["Add a little dried tangerine peel, ginko nu, and dried tofu skin to cook along with it!"]


I've got the time to cook, I've got a place where I can do it without distressing anyone.
It's a comfortable apartment in a quiet building. And I enjoy spending time in the kitchen.

Many dishes take too much time to make and so do soups and sauces, when you are by yourself. Good cooking is based on judicious additions, layering flavours, pre-prepping ingredients, and attention plus inspiration. Planning, and work done ahead of time may reduce the actual process to one of assembly at high speed, over high heat.

All of this is rather pointless when one is the only person to eat the results.

My roommate is primarily a breakfast person, my appetite doesn't wake up till long past dawn at the very earliest; our eating habits have changed considerably these past few years, we seldom eat together.
Gustatorily we have grown far apart.

A kitchen absolutely demands company, there must be someone else taking an interest in the food to make it all worthwhile.
Curiosity, conversation, feedback, and happy reactions.
Decent food requires another person who must also be satisfied.
It will keep your experimentation from being all unbalanced and berserk.


I can tell you from personal experience that jalapeño peppers sometimes are a marvelous salad vegetable, as are crisp bacon and dill pickles, but Louisiana hotsauce is NOT a fit substitute for vinegar when making a dressing to go along with it, no matter how zippy you like your food. And anchovies, while totally divine, are not suitable layered on toast. Even if frazzled in butter. With chilies. And garlic. With some sliced tomato on top.
That particular composition would have made a good after-dinner savoury.
It just wasn't advisable in any way for main course.
Though it was easy and quick to make.
It seemed a good idea.
At the time.


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