My Week of Eating Solo

I’m in Bermuda, for a week alone; not planned, just happened. Kathleen will join in precisely eight days. Meanwhile, I’m cooking for myself. The restaurants here are mostly bad, expensive, and far away, to boot. (There is a very local place in walking distance that I keep meaning to try. But later.) On the way from the airport to the house, I stop and buy supplies; tomorrow I’ll go to Wadson’s (“Tommy’s” because Kat knows Tommy Wadson), the local farm and market that is quite good. Most of my veg and meat will come from there this week, filling in with the supermarket and the odd vendor; you never know about fresh fish here, and right now it’s near-hurricane force winds so there’s no hope for that for a few days at least.

In the course of this week, I learned (or re-learned) many things about cooking for yourself and just yourself every day: The necessity of repetition, the relative effort involved in cooking for one instead of two or four, the role that positive reinforcement plays in my cooking life, and the relationship of alcohol and salt.