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.