Most recipes serve multiple people. In Me, Myself, and Dinner, each dish serves one and only one. That’s you! Because whether you live solo (almost 30% of Americans do) or are enjoying a night to yourself, sitting down to a meal should be something to look forward to.
Cooking for myself is a rare treat. Most weekdays are a maelstrom of work, kids’ schedules, long commutes, and dinners to suit the needs of everyone. That’s just what being a parent is. But as a professional cook, it’s limiting. Weeknight meals inevitably involve some amount of compromise: bottled marinara here, a pouch of refried beans there. Catch me alone in the kitchen, though, and it’s a whole different story.
I delight in the foods that might raise eyebrows with my family. I snack as I prep, often some caramelly aged Gouda, or a handful of pistachios whose shells compete for space on my cutting board. The music is anything by Bill Evans Trio, the most calming jazz I know, that I dance terribly to while my cats judge me from their climbing tower. And the menu is something that’s special to eat but simple to pull off.
Steak is my ideal solo meal. Besides that it’s a nonstarter for my nearly-vegetarian spouse, it’s a completely different experience when working with a single, smaller piece. Steak for a crowd is too expensive, and requires a level of last-minute theatrics incompatible with small talk. If you are coming over, plan on chickpeas and a lot of salads.
My go-to cut of beef is boneless short rib. It usually comes appropriately-sized for one, which makes grocery shopping easy. Occasionally labelled Denver or zabuton, it is highly affordable (at least for steak), but doesn’t skimp on flavor or texture. Firmer than ribeye but just as rich, and more consistently well-marbled than most other cuts, it can be cooked like steak (i.e. medium or medium-rare) or braised to shreddyness. With just one piece to look after in the skillet, I can maintain total focus as I frequently flip and rotate the steak, building a deep sear layer by layer.
The rest of the meal is all about minimal-prep sides my kids would never take more than a few bites of. I’m talking swiftly braised collard greens seasoned with fresh garlic and dashi powder, for a round savoriness. Also, a scatter of quick-pickled radishes (literally just sliced radish and seasoned rice vinegar), which adds sharp, sweet, and bright balance. You can whip up both while the steak cooks, so you’re making the most of your time.
Gauging the steak for doneness is straightforward, even without a thermometer. I look for juices beginning to bead on the surface of the steak, which signals medium-rare doneness, then I cook it just a bit longer to coax extra tenderness from this robust cut. The stove hood is now on max, which calls for something a bit more forceful than jazz, so I am now lip-syncing to Hysteria by Def Leppard, which means the cats are scattering. Their interest in meat can’t override the terror of me using my beloved tongs as a fake microphone.
As the steak rests, I throw a knob of butter into the pan and allow it to brown, a step that happens in the blink of an eye thanks to the hot pan and built-up fond. Then I add a splash of water along with a spoonful of oyster sauce. This ingredient is absolute magic here, adding umami without the need for stock and a touch of silky starch to thicken the pan sauce.
All that’s left is tucking in at the counter, my home version of a restaurant bar, where dining solo feels like luxurious self-care, and anything but lonely. Best of all, there are no kids to try to herd towards the dinner table. Recently, they’ve gotten so much more adventurous with food, they might even like this. But that doesn’t mean I am cooking it for them anytime soon.