Extravagence

Earlier this fall, I bought a baking stone. Much like my desire to have a dress form, my decision to buy a baking stone had to do with my desire to feel like I'm doing things right. I also wanted new motivation to keep me practicing. The things I don't always have, though, is time and foresight, two things that really help when baking bread. But one weekend in November, I found myself home alone with all the time in the world. And I was a little lonely, too, so I decided that baking bread would provide me with a constant companion that I could later devour as part of a nice meal. So I began on Saturday night with the starter, got up Sunday morning and continued with the proofing, and by around 4 p.m., I was pulling this thing out of the oven.

(Rustic Country Loaf, found in The Best Recipe Cookbook)

Cooking with another person in mind can sometimes mean that some of your favorite ingredients get used less often. In my case, I haven't touched many of my tried-and-true dinner recipes involving dijon, balsamic vinegar, capers, olives or portabellas. So when I'm cooking for just myself, I try to get a few of them in. One of my favorite people to consult in times like these is Lynne Rosetto Kasper of The Splendid Table. She has a beautiful recipe for Chicken Cacciatore that I've been hanging onto, and my solo Sunday night was begging for it.

This was so rich. And it made so much. The chicken became so tender, the olives burst through with their mild tanginess, and I was just in heaven before I even served it up on a plate with rice. I stood at the stove and swooned. These were the kinds of aromas that knock people off their feet when they walk into your house and I was inhaling them directly.

When the rice was done, I lit some candles, turned on my prettiest-sounding record, and arranged everything for a photo.

Maybe this should have felt ridiculous.

But I sat there, happy, drinking my wine, buttering my bread, listening to myself chew, and feeling pretty extravagant.