Solitary Salad

Whew! The last month has been a doozy ... Food and Paper hosted and recently posted the results of the monthly food photography contest, Does My Blog Look Good in This?. If you haven't taken a taste of the entries, pop over to the gallery. And, for dessert, linger over the outstanding winners.

There have been visitors and vacations, backyard and beach dining. On one July night, I found myself, together with 30 of my closest family members, tearing at the flesh of a suckling pig. Happy birthday, Granny.

In other news, we've welcomed into our household a rambunctious little Wheaten Terrier pup, who (sometimes) comes to calls of "Sadie." She may not be fodder for a food blog, but she has certainly made her home in the kitchen where she chews her stuffed woodchuck, digs in her water dish, and pees on the floor. When she does the latter, I threaten to cook her up in the crock pot, but it's all bluster... she'd be a monster to skin. These dogs are furry.

It's also been hotter than a habanero in Pittsburgh...too hot to hover over a stove, too hot to set the table, too hot to carry on a civilized conversation.

Whew!, I say.

When that's about all I can say, the time is right for solitary salad.

Solitary salad is my dinner choice when I have only my own belly to nourish and my own taste buds to please. It's a simple thing, ready in a jiffy, and capable of endless variation. What follows, then, is less a recipe than a record of what I ate on a steamy evening in early August, a book on Greek Archeology my only table guest.

It all starts with fresh greens, romaine when I have it, as I did in this case, scored from my CSA farm box. Avocado is an absolute. If the opportunity for a solitary salad presents itself, I'll make a run to the grocery, filling my shopping basket with nothing more than a single avocado. To this crunchy and creamy combo, I add something sweet (strawberries) or crisp (radishes). This particular incarnation features cherry tomatoes, the first few specimens from my garden, and the first tomatoes I've ever grown. Thanks, Mom, for wiggling your green thumb in my direction! Sliced gorgonzola, a cheese deemed by my daily dinner companion too stinky to be food, lends an whiff of indulgence to the salad bowl.

Stinky cheese often graces my table when it's set for one.

So do smoked sardines, layered on a bed of sticky rice and nori.

And, so does butter, lots of it, melted into a pile of egg noodles sprinkled with nutmeg.

M.F.K. Fisher opens An Alphabet for Gourmets with "A is for dining Alone," wherein she describes her own solitary suppers:

"I always ate slowly, from a big tray set with a mixture of Woolworth and Spode; and I soothed my spirits beforehand with a glass of sherry or vermouth, subscribing to the ancient truth that only a relaxed throat can make a swallow. More often than not I drank a glass or two of light wine with the hot food: a big bowl of soup, with a fine pear and some Teleme jack cheese; or two very round eggs, from a misnamed "poacher," on sourdough toast with browned butter poured over and a celery heart alongside for something crisp; or a can of bean sprouts, tossed with sweet butter and some soy and lemon juice, and a big glass of milk. Things tasted good..."

Ms. Fisher, as usual, tells the story of sensual pleasures in a matter-of-fact voice. Dining alone does taste good, at least when seen as gastronomic opportunity rather than social disappointment.

What, dear readers, do you make for yourself when dining alone? Do you have a particular hankering you indulge when you don't have other palates to please?

Solitary Salad
Makes a huge salad for one hungry person without dinner companions; otherwise, serves 2.


For dressing:
2 tablespoons shallot, finely diced
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper

For salad:
1 large head romaine lettuce, shredded
10 cherry tomatoes, cut in half
1 avocado, diced into large chunks
a good hunk of gorgonzola cheese, sliced into manageable hunks

1. Make dressing: Combine shallot and lemon juice in the bottom of a large, non-reactive bowl. Allow shallot to sit in lemon juice for a few minutes to mellow out. You can prepare the salad ingredients while this happens. Then, pouring in a steady stream, add olive oil to lemon and shallot mixture, whisking continuously until well blended. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

2. Assemble salad: Combine lettuce, tomatoes, avocado, and gorgonzola in the bowl holding the dressing. Toss thoroughly. Eat directly from bowl; or, if sharing, divide between two more reasonably sized bowls, and serve.