Table for One

Many have asked if I cook much in medical school—old friends, who remember the days of the cucumber turtles, and new ones, who ask as a matter of practicality. Will I need a giant wok or a regular pan? Should I invest in a slow cooker? Am I doomed to spend my adult days eating microwaved chow mein?

I cooked my meals for the first week of Anatomy but quickly found that what once was a hobby had now become a chore. My main concerns were neither presentation nor taste but cost and calories (the former too high and the latter never enough). I ate quickly, within 20 minutes, usually while catching up on my YouTube feed or cramming for an exam. How I missed dining halls and prepaid meal plans! Not because they were cost effective or the dishes particularly tasty (though I will always have a soft spot for Stiles pizza) but for the sheer variety. The first time I visited Yale since graduating, I walked into a dining hall and thought: Here is the land of plenty. I could choose between eight types of cereal. I could have my fill of 2%, skim milk, Lactaid, almond milk, or soymilk. (Never mind that I’m allergic to the last one. I could still have it, if I so pleased, and that was all that mattered.) No more rationing the last glass of orange juice or dithering between buying peaches OR plums at the market. I could have my cake and eat it, too.

Nowadays I divide my meals between “self-made”—which usually means Japanese curry or the ubiquitous tomato-fried-egg combo that was the culinary achievement of my teenage years—and store-bought goods such as frozen dumplings, instant ramen, and PB&J.¹ But since I find myself with more time on my hands this summer (which I reluctantly refer to as “the last summer of my life”), it’s time to look up some new recipes and sharpen the knife skills. Mushrooms and five spiced tofu! Green beans with basil! Sweet and sour ribs! Since Marvin is around, we cook for two. Some nights we make mojitos.

But lunch I still eat alone, be it the $3.32 salads at the Icahn building or leftovers from last night’s fare. I have discovered that, despite the warnings, you can get away with cooking only half a cup of rice in a 6-cup rice cooker, if you keep pressing the Cook button down when it clicks to Warm prematurely. When at last my thin layer of rice is done, I heat the cold curry in the microwave, set the vent fan to High, and lift the lid on my rice cooker. The steam rushes out and escapes into the whirring overhead mesh, an offering to the gods. Give us this day our daily bread, and don’t let it burn.