solitary excitement

michael told me i was moody last night. which, i suppose, is true. it was the first time that i'd tried cooking for just myself--every other time that michael's had other plans i've ended up eating leftovers or getting take-out, scowling while i watch will and grace or access hollywood (terry and i used to call the period between 7.30-8, the time after will and grace and before prime-time started "the 7:30 television wasteland." actually maybe it was just me who called it that and terry nodded his head.).

last night, though, i decided that, goddammit i wasn't just going to throw something on the foreman grill and call it "dinner." i was going to cook myself something good to eat. i love cooking, after all, and christ knows i love eating. so i made myself what i called chicken-piccata-for-one. i pounded out the one chicken breast, then dredged it in flower, eggs, bread crumbs. i pan-fried it, then whipped up the picctata (capers, lemon juice, broth), threw it in the oven.

i got my chicken piccata for-one out of the oven, perfectly juicy and bubbly and tart. then i went to serve myself and (paging marta) grabbed the handle of the saute pan, severely burning my left hand. i was determined, though, not to let it ruin my first fancy dinner alone. i'm going to have a lot of them over the coming months (until i move in with hilary and amanda, and finally have someone to cook for again), so i was going to forge ahead.

i sat down with my asparagus, grilled to perfection, and my chicken piccata for one, and my salad, and...watched will and grace. alone. and i ate my chicken piccata for one, and thoroughly enjoyed it, while icing my burned hand. alone. so, this is a new step in life, this re-learning how to be by myself, how to enjoy robert when other people aren't around.

god, this should've been a column...