What do you eat when you eat alone?

Well. What do YOU eat when you eat alone? Deborah Madison posed that question to us at a Food & Memoir class at Tassajara a while ago … she was collecting stories for her new book. Since then, we've become friends. We’ve been following her progress through the book of the same title, through the book tour, and now I’m home alone. And cooking--just for me.

You see, he’s in Florida on business, and it’s a cold day here. Started about 10 degrees cooler than last night’s forecast suggested, and windier, too. But bright sun and red, gold and green leaves have been dancing outside of every window all day long. It's a perfect day for digging in and making a mess. (Actually, the house is already a mess. Cleaning is a good Sunday project, and today is Saturday. In fact, cleaning is second only to getting dog food on tomorrow’s list of to-do’s; though I expect it will trickle down as the day progresses.) I've really kind of left everything for tomorrow. For now, I just really want to cook. (He's usually at the stove lately.)

These solo cooking endeavors always begin with just one thing. My one thing today was an aging head of cauliflower in the fridge. It had somehow slid behind the beer. (How does that happen?) It was still good, no spots, mostly firm. Yeah, it would be a good starting point. But I wanted more than steamed florets with lemon juice and butter. I somehow wanted peas, too, and béchamel.

I pulled all my favorite cookbooks ... Child, Claiborne, Beard, Madison, Catelli, all those others. Nothing inspired me. Then I pulled Things Cooks Love down. Those of you who know me know that our association with Sur La Table is unusually close, and so I’m reluctant to sing praises too loudly, too emphatically about one of their own, but damn, I love that book. It is all about THINGS, but it’s about how to use them to make delicious other things. It’s guided me through all sorts of adventures … paellas, pastas, Indian, Asian, Moroccan, and now, ha, there it was: a recipe for Cauliflower, Shrimp and Prosciutto Gratin (with peas).

So I made my list (groceries and cleaning supplies) and went to the store (on Halloween afternoon, such a foolish thing!) and came home and made a mess. Really. Seriously. Flour, butter spatters, those annoying bits of cauliflower that always slide under the edge of the sponge, parmesan gratings, bread crumbs, citrus zest. And, oh my God, the pots and the pans and the whisks and graters and …

It’s a simple recipe, in spite of my mess and the things it took to make it: it's a layer of blanched cauliflower, another of uncooked shrimp, then a layer of peas, chopped prosciutto, béchamel (with lemon zest and chives) and breadcrumbs and parmesan.

When the thing went into the oven, I cleaned the mess—at least the kitchen part of it, and now I wait. Maybe I’ll make a martini… I should take pictures, don’t you think? The martini is very good. Local gin and jalapeno-stuffed olives. And pictures would help the time pass.

(tick-tock, tick-tock)

It’s out of the oven now, the gratin is golden-topped and fragrant. And, tick-tock, the required 10 minutes to allow it to set has passed.

The first bite is perfect. Oh, my. It’s so good, almost too good to eat by myself. (No. No. It’s just fine to eat all by myself. But now I know and maybe next time I’ll share. Maybe. Mom’s coming for a while over the holidays. She’d like this.)

Each ingredient is distinct, its flavor bright. So odd and unexpected. The breadcrumbs are crunchy and crisp. The shrimp is tender, perfect; the cauliflower still crunchy, too. I can taste the lemon--and chives. So good. Maybe just one more bite won’t hurt too much. I'm eating alone after all.

Tomorrow night, I think it’s back to Deborah’s book, Local Flavors. I just spied a recipe for a tempting ragout. I’ve got the ingredients already and it’s supposed to be even colder tomorrow. Good for cooking and cleaning.