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" The Counterpoint: Why It&amp;#039;s Better to Share a Meal with Loved Ones I cook at a kinda fancy restaurant. I want to imagine tables of people eating, tasting, sharing, gushing to each other about the lovely time they&amp;#039;re having, losing themselves in this fragment of their lives that they&amp;#039;ve allowed us to curate. I know I&amp;#039;m rarely happier than when I&amp;#039;m with family and friends, around the table, eating and drinking well. There are the rare occasions, though, when I&amp;#039;m happy to eat alone. A meal not to be shared or discussed, just to be enjoyed. Quietly and without distraction. This doesn&amp;#039;t happen much. The demands of my kitchen and my young family require that I share the vast amount of my waking hours with others, eating, talking about eating, or just getting the business of cooking and eating done. Little opportunity exists to do, or eat, exactly what I want. You know, totally selfishly, what I want. Once in a great while though, when I remember to plan it out, I can. A perfect sausage with sauerkraut and strong mustard, for example. And a beer, naturally. Most nights, I get home after midnight. I come in to a house asleep and try to make a snack quietly so as to avoid waking anyone up. Usually I go simple\u2014cheese and crackers, a taco I picked up on the way home. But sometimes, I turn on the hood fan, warm up some kraut, and slowly brown up a sausage. Now it doesn&amp;#039;t have to be fancy. A good version of a Chicago Polish, a kielbasa, a Thuringer, perhaps a Morteau\u2014all viable options. In fact, growing up with an Irish grandmother and a German grandfather, I could even do well with a piece of corned beef with the kraut and the mustard. Just like I&amp;#039;m five years old again. This isn&amp;#039;t the moment for a foie gras and duck confit sausage or smoked elk and dried cherry sausage or whatever\u2014it&amp;#039;s the exact opposite. It&amp;#039;s the time to enjoy something simple and direct. In my work, I love that I create intimate experiences for my guests. They literally consume what I make, be it eggplant tortoloni or waygu bavette. There aren&amp;#039;t many careers where the client and the producer are so intrinsically linked. But at the end of the day, your palate and your sense of fulfillment are the gateway to your own gustatory happiness. And sometimes what&amp;#039;s truly nourishing is food that&amp;#039;s simple and familiar. I guess what I&amp;#039;m saying is: Occasionally it&amp;#039;s nice to indulge in something just for you, to not have to think about what other people want, to not have to share\u2014especially at home alone, when everyone else is asleep. The Counterpoint: Why It&amp;#039;s Better to Share a Meal with Loved Ones This is The Spill, a new series on Eat Like a Man where chefs, food writers, restaurateurs, policy makers\u2014anyone who has something vital, incendiary, or earth-shattering (or just kind of amusing) to say about the food world today\u2014can write what&amp;#039;s on their mind. If you work in the food industry and are interested in writing for The Spill, please send your ideas to spill@esquire.com. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/food-drink/food/a29614/virtues-of-eating-alone/>