Solo Food: 72 recipes for you alone. Janneke Vreugdenhil

       Orecchiette with Tenderstem broccoli, anchovies & fennel seed

       Courgette soup with tarragon

       Bowl of rice with Chinesey vegetables

       FREEZE YOUR FAVOURITES

       Chilli con everything

       All-round chicken soup

       Comforting little casseroles

       Roasted squash & carrot soup

       Pasta sauce with fresh sausage & fennel seed

       Pork loin stewed with red wine & bay leaves

       Marcella’s sugo

       Pesto at your fingertips

       Ratatouille

       Surinamese masala chicken

       Basic nasi goreng (Indonesian fried rice)

       CLASSICS FOR ONE

       Steak Béarnaise with chips & salad

       Sea bass in a salt crust

       Cheat’s pizza Margherita

       Solo chicken with rosemary & Roseval potatoes

       Cassoulet

       10-minute pho

       Caesar salad with crispy pancetta & avocado

       Lamb chops with red wine & thyme sauce & green beans

       Steak tartare

       Risotto ai funghi

       Too-good-to-share cheese fondue

       BE SWEET TO YOURSELF

       Blackberry mess

       Instant mango–coconut ice cream

       Lemon mug cake

       Warm apple tartlet with vanilla ice cream

       Coffee–ricotta parfait

       La mousse au chocolat pour toi

       Rosemary–honey figs with Gorgonzola

       A fantastic raspberry dessert

       Pear–yoghurt swirl

       Tiramisu for one, please!

       SOLO TREATS

       Oatmeal congee

       Parma ham–Taleggio toastie de luxe

       Scrambled eggs, griddled asparagus & salmon on toast

       Stir-fried prawns with harissa mayo

       Potato gratin with a whole load of cheese

       Calf’s liver sans etiquette

       Party for one

       Oysters, Champagne & a good book

       A word of thanks

       List of searchable terms

       About the Publisher

INTRODUCTION

      The high point

      On the kitchen counter are a steak, two lumpy potatoes and a head of lettuce. My evening meal. I slice off a chunk of butter and drop it into the pan. Plop. Turn on the hob, sizzling sounds. The butter bubbles furiously and then, slowly but surely, the foam dies down and a hush descends over the pan. White flakes form on the bottom of the pan. I grip the handle and pour the contents on to a piece of kitchen paper that I’ve placed in a sieve. The glass measuring jug fills with clear yellow liquid. My laptop is on the counter, too, opened out and tuned in to Spotify. My fingertips conjure up the sounds of John Coltrane. I rinse out the pan and pour in a splash of white wine. An equal amount of vinegar. I peel and finely chop a shallot, pluck the pointed leaves from two sprigs of tarragon. I fill a glass with wine, and as I drink from it, I let the liquid in the pan evaporate until there’s no more than a tablespoon and a half left. I peel the potatoes, slice them into thick matchsticks, rinse them under the tap, then dry them in a tea towel. I put a frying pan on the hob, add a splash of oil, then the potatoes and cover with a lid. It’s a mild April day, the promise of summer, and I open the kitchen window. Coltrane blows his My Favorite Things, and I sing along. First softly, then louder. Louder and louder and more off-key. No one can hear me. I’m alone. I’m making myself steak Béarnaise with chips and salad. And then I don’t feel so bad.

      I wash and dry the lettuce. Mix together a dressing of mustard, red wine vinegar, olive oil, pepper and salt. Hot and sharp. Probably too hot and too sharp for any guest who might taste it, but just the way I like it. I strain the reduced wine into a bowl. Crack an egg,