I had what I call my ‘single gal’ dinner last night.
For all you foodies out there, grab a pen and paper and note this down:
Cook some 2-minute Mi Goreng noodles, empty a tin of tuna on top and shove in a stalk of spring onion (to make it, you know, balanced.)
I ate this at 9:30pm, in bed, watching 30 Rock on my laptop.
Do you know what I had for dinner the night before?
No?
Neither do I, but it was in a Tupperware container and didn’t taste off, and apparently I’d cooked it at some earlier stage, though I haven’t been home for dinner for like 2 weeks…
The night before that I had a banana because I was tired and my kitchen still hasn’t got the hang of cooking meals itself, no matter how long I stand in front of the open fridge staring at its contents.
Now don’t get me wrong – I love food. I’d marry food in a civil ceremony if only they’d make it legal. I just wish it would meet me halfway and prepare itself.
I haven’t always been like this. Back when I was in a long-term live-in relationship I cooked, was cooked for and ate like later-life Marlon Brando. (Whereas now I eat like later-later-life Marlon Brando when he became an island recluse and ate nothing but frozen hot dogs.)
And before this I’d always lived in share houses where meals were often communal and had to be vaguely creative and nutritious or else face the judgement of a ravenous pack of twenty-something Gen Y-ers (and if you can find something more sarcastically snarky than that, you win a big shiny prize.)
But now that I’m living solo and cooking for one I just can’t be bothered. You know that scene in every post-zombie apocalypse film where the protagonist (who is often Will Smith) stumbles across an abandoned farmhouse and opens the fridge to find it near empty but for some turned milk and an unidentifiable mouldy mess? That’s what my fridge looks like on a regular basis and the zombie uprising hasn’t even happened yet.
I think you know what I’m talking about – you know the nights when you get home late, tired, wanting nothing but to put on something with an elastic waistband and lie semi-comatose on the couch until it’s a reasonable enough hour for ‘big sleep.’ (As opposed to ‘little sleep’ or naps, ‘big sleep’ is the one you do in bed for a longer but never long enough amount of time.)
And no matter how loud your belly is growling the rest of you just goes ‘C’mon, I worked all day and now you expect me to cook? I’ll eat tomorrow.’ Because all you want at these times is someone – anyone – to sweep in and cook for you; a partner, a housemate, a parent, Jamie Oliver who just happened to be passing by and sensed your tired hunger and wouldn’t you know he just happens to have an assortment of exotic fruits and a freshly caught crayfish on him, plus he’s been learning Shiatsu and needs someone to practice on…Sorry, where were we?
Top Comments
This is the best article ever. My husband is away and I just can't be bothered. Dinner is subsisting of peanut butter on toast and a banana followed by late night popcorn. Glad to find an article that gets me! Haha
Ha ha it reminds me of my 'post-bar-2am snack' consisting of Singapore 2 minute noodles with a tin of tuna dumped on top! I think I had that for dinner last week actually.
I've always loved cooking, but lately I just can't be bothered! I live on my own and though I can get away with cooking something like spag bol on Monday night and just reheating leftovers for the rest of the week I get really sick of eating the same thing all week.
I have some Donna Hay cookbooks which are good, as a lot of her recipes serve 2 and don't involve lots of complicated ingredients, so you only have to eat the same meal two nights in a row!