This week, I am bewitched by a book I found in a friend’s giveaway pile called The Art of Eating In: How I Learned to Stop Spending and Love the Stove by Cathy Erway, in which a young New Yorker eschews eating out in favour of making every meal in her tiny kitchen for two years.
Two years?! I can’t even go two weeks without eating out. Friday is spicy butter chicken night, with fluffy basmati rice and the most gorgeous airy naan I have ever placed on my tastebuds. On Tuesday or Wednesday, we’ll eat gloriously sticky ribs or a tender brisket sandwich from a hopping new BBQ place down the street from me. Over the weekend I usually get thick Thai pad sew noodles, and I’m not too picky where they come from either.
A decade ago, ironically with an inferior kitchen and shoddier knife skills, I cooked far more than I do now. I had weekly dinner parties with lots of cheap wine and pasta. Yet eventually it started to feel like drudgery, my workday grew ever longer, and I moved to a neighbourhood full of restaurants and takeout joints. A perfect recipe for eating out three times a week was thus created. But now that I’m back at the gym, it seems fitting I should try and cut down on these salty, fat-laden (but delicious) delights, right? So here I go. I’m going to see if I can cook-in, like Cathy Erway, for two weeks.
My question for all of you out there is, do you feel like you eat out too often?