Fresh garlic really is something else, and made me realize how dessicated the stuff we normally store on the counter really is when we bring it home. Where peeling garlic for me is usually somewhat of a smash and slide operation, peeling the fresh stuff I brought home from the market last week was closer to a delicate undressing. Sexy, almost, and very tender.

Wow.

In any case, starving, craving something healthy, and lacking much else in the way of fresh vegetables, I tried Anya von Bremzen’s rendition of Castilian garlic soup, which is insanely easy, really:

Chop up some prosciutto or serrano, slice 6 cloves of garlic, and chop 4. Cut up a hunk of country bread into large cubes. (I was lucky to have the some leftover ciabatta I made last weekend. More on that later, perhaps.)

Sweat the sliced garlic and ham in some very nice olive oil for about 7 minutes until it smells wonderful, then add your bread, stirring to coat with all the now even more delicious oil. Off heat, toss the whole mixture with 2 teaspoons of sweet pimentón, then return to the heat and add 5 cups of stock.

Simmer for a few minutes, then add the chopped garlic and simmer one minute more.

To serve, you add a poached egg. Since I made the full batch of soup, and am eating that sucker alone (probably not all in one sitting), I poached the eggs right in the soup. A little salt and pepper, a glass of wine, you’re good to go.

Now my house smells fantastic, and I’m warm, cozy, and well fed. Can’t beat that at the end of a long, long weekend.

(See Anya von Bremzen’s The New Spanish Table for the recipe.)

I may not be good for much, but I can still make a sweet pasta dinner while rather drunk.

It’s delicious, and good for you, too — you just have to be lucky enough to find all these goods in your fridge.

Sauté some chopped prosciutto or pancetta in a little olive oil until sort of crisp. Take it out. Add some chopped garlic, a bit of sliced onion, and when that’s soft, some half-moons of zucchini. When less than crisp, add a half cup or so of chicken stock, some pepper, and some salt, depending on how salty your meat is to begin with. Add a small head of radicchio, sliced thin.

Cook up your pasta, and when it’s done, add the pasta with some of its cooking water and a big splash (or three) of balsamic vinegar to your pan. Stir, add freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano. (Avoid what I did and keep the cheese over the plate or pan, not countertop.) Eat and go to bed happier than before.

Cooking for one can make for a lonely night, but it can also be a nice occasion to make a meal I know no one else wants to eat. When I wasn’t single, I’d take one of my solo nights as an excuse to steam a bowlful of garlicky, salty, sloppy, delicious mussels, cozze, to enjoy with a nice hunk of crusty bread, which could never be enjoyed as a twosome. Weekend nights were almost better, really, because I had no need for next-day lunch leftovers. Today moules à la marinière and some frites just sounded like a good project and a nice payback to myself for staying in.

I’m actually not sure which came first: the mussels plan or my debt review. I realized tonight that with the money I’ve saved, I could actually pay off the heaviest side of my culinary school loans. I’d have to kiss my fuck-you money goodbye — and this is the first time in a while I’ve even had fuck-you money — but I just might be ready.

[side note: As I’m writing this, a culinary school ad appears on TV. Have you ever dreamed of being a chef? Don’t borrow.]

So when I pay off my loans, is my culinary education officially over? It’s been long enough, for god’s sake, and I can’t really afford to pay it off yet, but I’m half-tempted to hold on to the bills as some misguided grip on the tricks I’ve known and lost. At the very least, it seems like I need to dig back in to some of my lessons.

And wow, I really do need to practice. A lot. My frites sucked.

I soaked, dried, and parboiled, and I fried again in hotter oil. Should’ve worked in smaller batches, though, because they were sogg-o-rific. Sheesh. I had to make fries as part of my graduation exams, and I’ll tell you, I passed handily. I’m going to chalk it up to an off night. But at least no one was here to give me a hard time about it.

And I did eat the entire bowl of mussels. All by myself.