Why I Cook at Home

  WHEN IT COMES to feeding time, there are basically two types of New Yorkers. The first type shows up at The Minetta Tavern on a Friday night, deliriously happy to have scored a reservation, oblivious to the glares and the stares from the betterdressed and the obnoxiously powerful, and totally impervious to the jostling and the poking they must endure at their less-thanstellar table. Then there’s the one who is frustrated with the name-check hustle of dining out. That would be me.  

I went to Minetta Tavern once and endured just such an experience—my chair was on the heavily trafficked path from the entryway to the kitchen—and I thought to myself, “You know what’s better than this? The steak I cook at home.”

ure, the steak I make may not have the same provenance or pedigree as the slab of beef they serve at The Minetta Tavern. But you know what it doesn’t have? Attitude. And if you have a B.Y.O.S. party, as I once did, the guests bring their own steaks and you cook them to order in a cast iron skillet as you guzzle your own wine to a soundtrack you choose yourself. That’s why I cook at home in New York: You’re the master of your own experience.

I also cook at home in New York because it’s cheaper—way cheaper. Of course that may not be immediately clear if you do your shopping at Citarella or Gourmet Garage (as I admit, I sometimes do), but if you shop the right way, you can eat for a week for the price of an appetizer at most hotspots.

Let me walk you through it. First you need your staples: your extra virgin olive oil (Colavita is a good cheap option), sticks of butter (unsalted, so you can control the seasoning), kosher salt (I prefer Morton’s coarse), fresh pepper (that you grind yourself), red chili flakes, a few heads of garlic, cans of tomatoes (San Marzano), boxes of pasta (I like De Cecco), Arborio rice, cans of beans (cannellini), polenta and, of course, fresh eggs.

With just those ingredients, you can feed yourself for a few days. Don’t believe me? Bring a big pot of water to a boil. In a skillet, add a big splash of the olive oil and a few of the garlic cloves, slivered. (And anchovies, if you have them; they’re another staple.) Turn up the heat and add some red chili flakes. Once everything’s good and toasty, add the can of tomatoes, a big sprinkling of salt and let it cook down until you have a sauce. Salt the boiling water, add your pasta (1-lb.), cook until just a little underdone and then lift into the finished sauce—cooking it all together for a minute and then topping it with Parmesan cheese and, if you have it, fresh basil. Easy dinner, night one.

Night two: Take the leftover sauce and cook some eggs in it. Serve that over polenta. That’s a whole other meal with just your staples.

And those canned beans? You can make a pretty incredible soup with them. I improvised a minestrone recently by cooking onion, celery and sliced cabbage in olive oil, adding tomato paste and a can of tomatoes, red chili flakes, two cans of beans, chicken stock and salt and pepper. Finished with more freshly grated Parmesan, the whole thing—not including the staples—cost less than $10 and fed four people. Beat that, Minetta Tavern!

OK, it’s not swanky restaurant food, so maybe you’re not convinced. Let’s say you’re thinking: “Adam, I like going out. I like seeing people and being seen places. Isn’t that what New York’s all about?” I get that. I enjoy that too. But here’s another reason to cook at home in New York: It makes your apartment feel lived in. Too many New Yorkers treat their apartments like storage facilities with beds, the place they deposit their bodies in-between social engagements. These apartments, consequently, become charmless, soulless and, frankly, a tad depressing.

Cooking changes that. To prove this, find a recipe for chocolate chip cookies (my favorite comes from Martha Stewart’s Baking Handbook). Make the dough, scoop it onto a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper and bake. Sniff. Smile. See? Your property value has just quadrupled.

And also? That smell may—just may—lure those neighbors you barely acknowledge in the hallway to your door. Would it be so bad to offer them one? Cooking creates communities; it brings people together. And maybe, a big maybe, they’ll help you with the dishes.

So the next time you’re invited to descend upon the dining destination du jour, stop for a moment and think: “Do I really want to do this? Do I really want an anorexic hostess to eye me with derision, cram me into a table hidden in a broom closet, make me wait two hours for overhyped, overpriced food that I can barely touch with my fork before it’s swept away and the dessert menus are dropped off?” The answer, I’m guessing, for most New Yorkers reading this is probably: “Of course!” But for those of you who, like me, care less about a scene and more about an experience, try cooking. It’s easier than you think.

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Adam Roberts can be found writing at his popular blog [amateurgourmet.com] and is the author of [The Amateur Gourmet](http://www.amazon.com/Amateur-Gourmet-Shop-Table-Almost/dp/0553804979). He is currently at work on another book and is the host of his own show on Food Network’s [food2.com](http://www.food2.com/series/the-amateur-gourmet).