The New York Times recently published an article called Scaling Down Recipes for Small Batches by Erin McDowell, a resident baker at Food52 and author of The Book on Pie. The article talks about a growing need for small batch recipes in light of the pandemic, when smaller households don’t want to be stuck with leftovers or when baking ingredients are in short supply.
One line jarred me immediately. “I love to bake,” McDowell says, “but I live alone with my husband.” This is an oxymoron, a contradiction in terms that a second grader could spot but that the Times chose to overlook. One commenter provided the basic math: “Alone is just one person. Add a person—the first is no longer alone.”
Cooking for two is often lumped together with cooking for one, but they couldn’t be more different. When you cook with and for another person, the entire dynamic shifts. A negotiation takes place at every meal: what to eat, who is doing the shopping/cooking/cleaning, whether or not to order takeout/where from/what to get. You also have someone to share in the cost, the preparation, and the cleanup, someone to help you eat the leftovers. The only similarity is that single cooks and couples both need less food than a standard recipe makes. It’s important to make this distinction. It’s important to define “alone” as one person and to own it.
The article was otherwise unremarkable, but the comments were both fascinating and infuriating. For every one person who thanked the author for the article or explained why small batches worked better for their lifestyle (ingredients are expensive, storage space is limited, they don’t want the extras or don’t have people to take them), ten more rose up to disparage them and the entire small batch idea. These commenters didn’t understand why you wouldn’t just freeze the extra three dozen cookies or give the majority of what you make to neighbors or friends or organizations in need. They couldn’t fathom why you would bother baking at all just to produce so little.
It’s an example of a conversation I’ve had and heard many times. It goes something like this:
Solo cooks: Your recipes/meal plans/shopping guides don’t work for me. What I need is THIS. Everyone else: Why can’t you just deal with it? Spend more! Freeze it all! Give it away! Solo cooks: Because for me that’s a waste of food and money. I like to cook and bake. I like fresh, homemade meals. I just need recipes that work for me. Everyone else: But WHY can’t you just… (see first response).
Getting others to hear and understand the needs of single cooks and our potential power as an audience feels like shouting into a void. It feels like pushing against a gale force wind that’s howling, “You don’t exist! You don’t matter! Just deal with it!” It’s exhausting. But I’ve had too many conversations and seen too many comments about this to give up now. We may be a chorus of cooks shouting into a void, but the void is getting smaller. And we’re only getting louder.
I’m not a big fan of big-batch leftovers—the kind you make at the beginning of the week and reheat again and again. I get bored easily, and I feel like foods lose all their oomph after a second reheating. Soups are no exception. To me, the bigger the batch of soup, the more tasteless it becomes. It also seems to multiply in the pot no matter how much you intended to make. Chicken stock also isn’t that cheap at my store, so using the whole quart container for one recipe—especially one I might not like—seems a shame.
This tomato soup checks all the boxes for a solo-friendly recipe. (Okay, it makes enough for two, but the leftovers are rather wonderful for lunch on a chilly day.) It uses a whole can of diced tomatoes and not too much broth. Heavy cream seems to be the default lightener for puréed soups, but I don’t buy it because one: I’m lactose intolerant and two: I don’t know how I’d use up the rest of a carton. Instead, I use the Greek yogurt you probably have in your fridge right now. The result is richer, more vibrant, and more velvety than anything you can buy, and it’s ready in about 20 minutes.
If you don’t think warm, crusty, fresh-out-of-the oven bread is possible on a weeknight, this small batch soda bread will blow your mind. I adapted this one from The English Kitchen’s sweet version. Think of it as a fantastic upgrade to the usual grilled cheese, either for dunking in the soup or slathering with butter (I prefer the latter). I bet other flavor combos like Parmesan and prosciutto or walnut and rosemary would be delicious too. Or go sweet by adding a tablespoon of sugar, orange zest, and dried cranberries or golden raisins. It’s one of those back pocket bakes that keeps on giving, especially for the solo cook.
This recipe makes enough for two, or one dinner tonight and one fantastic lunch tomorrow. Don’t forget to split open each quadrant of soda bread and slather with butter.
Prep Time 25minutes
Cook Time 35minutes
Total Time 1hour
Cheddar-Scallion Soda Bread
⅛tspfreshly ground black pepper
½cupfreshly grated sharp Cheddar
2scallions, finely chopped
1garlic clove, minced
1(15 oz) can diced tomatoes
1cupunsalted chicken stock, broth, or water
3tbspwhole milk Greek yogurt
Preheat your oven to 425°F.
For the soda bread, whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt, and pepper. Add butter and rub it into the flour mixture with your fingertips until the mixture is pebbly and the butter is well coated. Combine buttermilk and egg yolk in a glass measuring cup. Add the wet ingredients to the dry and stir with a fork to combine.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and shape into a disk that’s about ½-inch thick. Sprinkle a baking sheet lightly with flour and add dough. Using a sharp knife or a bench scraper, cut a cross into the dough, cutting almost through to the baking sheet. Bake for about 35 minutes or until the soda bread is crisp and golden brown.
For the soup, heat oil in a large saucepan or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion and sauté 3-4 minutes or until softened. Add the salt, oregano, smoked paprika, and garlic and sauté 2 minutes. Stir in the tomato paste and cook for 30 seconds. Add the diced tomatoes and broth. Bring to a gentle simmer and let cook, partially covered, for 5 minutes.
Place yogurt in a small bowl. Add tomato mixture to a blender. Remove the center piece from the blender lid (to allow steam to escape) and secure the lid on the blender. Cover the opening with a kitchen towel. Blend the soup, gradually increasing the speed to medium, until smooth.
Add a ladle full of the soup to the bowl with the yogurt and stir until well-combined. Add the yogurt mixture back to the soup and blend a couple more seconds. Return soup to the Dutch oven and simmer over medium heat for about 2 minutes. Remove from heat. Season to taste. Stir in the baby spinach just until wilted, or add to your bowl and ladle the soup over it.
When I’m staring down a pantry ingredient at the store, the (imaginary) conversation between us goes something like this: Me: “If I bring you home, how will you earn your keep?” Ingredient: “You can make that one thing you’ve been craving!” Me: “Yeah, but like, after that.” Ingredient: “I don’t know. Wait a bit, then make it again? Let me fossilize on the top shelf until you forget I exist and buy another one?” Me: “Wrong answer. Next!”
I try to think of at least three ways to use an ingredient before bringing it home. I’m also always trying to figure out how to use what’s already in my pantry. More than being conscious of food waste or budget, this is really just what gets me excited to cook… I love finding new recipes or inventing my own in the name of using up that one thing. I’ll build dishes around the last dregs of a tahini jar, the last bundle of soba noodles. I’ll bake for no other reason than I must—must—use the entire carton of buttermilk some way, somehow.
A few weeks ago, that ingredient was cornmeal. I just had to have a batch of Dessert for Two’s corn muffins. After that, I snuck some more cornmeal into a lemon loaf cake. I tried to boil it like polenta. I made the corn muffins again. And, sigh, I still have about half a bag left.
And so the recipe for these savory cornmeal pancakes was born. It’s my cheat for a cornbread fix that doesn’t serve ten people or take an hour to make, with sharp Cheddar and scallions as optional stir-ins. The salsa here is Texas caviar–inspired, with a touch of sherry vinegar for extra oomph. A dollop of sour cream or Greek yogurt brings it all together. It’s light yet super satisfying, simple yet packed with flavor. I’ll happily chip away at that bag of cornmeal just to make it again.
Think of this dish as cornbread meets Texas caviar, cooking-for-one style. You will end up with enough pancakes for two, but this by design: The leftovers keep beautifully. Warm in the microwave and top with tomato-y braised greens or slather with butter and add to a hearty salad or grain bowl.
Prep Time 20minutes
Cook Time 10minutes
Total Time 30minutes
Black Eyed Pea Salsa
¼canblack eyed peas, rinsed and drained(about ⅓ cup)
⅓cupcherry or grape tomatoes, halved or quartered
3tbspfinely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley(leaves and stems)
3tbspfinely chopped red onion
1small garlic clove, minced
salt and pepper to taste
¼tspfreshly ground black pepper
¼cupgrated sharp Cheddar
1scallion, finely chopped
½cupbuttermilk(or 3 tbsp plain yogurt + enough milk or non-dairy milk to equal 1/2 cup)
2tbspsour cream or plain Greek yogurt
In a small bowl, combine all the black eyed pea salsa ingredients. Do this first so the flavors have time to marinate and meld, and the red onion can lose some of its sharp bite.
In another bowl, whisk together cornmeal, flour, baking powder, salt, and pepper. Stir in Cheddar and scallion. In a 2-cup glass measuring cup, whisk together buttermilk, egg, and oil. If you don't have buttermilk, add any milk to the yogurt and stir to combine first, then add the egg and oil.
Add the wet ingredients to the dry and stir to combine. (In one test, I beat a leftover egg white to soft peaks and folded it into the batter. Would be delicious with or without!)
Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add butter and swirl to melt and coat pan. Use a ¼-cup measuring cup to scoop batter into pan for 6 pancakes. Cook 2-3 minutes per side. I usually work in batches: 3-4 pancakes in the first, 2-3 in the second.
Top 3 pancakes with the sour cream and black eyed pea salsa. Save remaining pancakes for another meal, a snack, or a side.
My Solo Kitchen
Is cooking really worth it, just for me? Yes, and it’s easier than you think. This is food for the busy, social, single cook, with hacks and use-it-up strategies that make the most of everything you buy. It’s solo cooking designed for real life, and it’s never been more delicious.
Hi, I’m Hannah. I’m a food writer, recipe developer, and content manager based in Nashville, TN. I’m also passionate about helping single cooks of all skill levels find confidence and joy in cooking for one. Learn more.