Aw! Such a Sad Widdle Book ...

"Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant, Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone" edited by Jenni Ferrari-Adler Penguin.com 168 pages $14.00

I think that many of the 26 writers whose essays are published here might not quite grasp the difference between "solitude" (usually good) and "loneliness" (usually bad.

It's hard to feel peppy! and write about the loneliness of dinner solo every night unless you do grasp the difference. It made for some very strange eating habits. One woman ate fresh asparagus every day for two straight months. Granted, she lived in Michigan. "The Year of Spaghetti" by Haruki Murakami. There is an ode to the goodness of black beans. Some of the writers set the table with cloth napkin, nice silverware and a rose in a bud vase. Others eat right out of the pot over the sink.

Universally, these writers are "poor and struggling" or living in literary communes on fellowships and/or grants.

These types are to me "In love with the idea of writing" and know nothing whatsoever about actually doing something commercial enugh to be saleable. If you're funded, you can sit on your keister and write all the ironic tales of chickens star-crossed in love on a deserted ranch in Wyoming that you want to, but if you're going to live in the real world (pay bills) then you need to know that writing is just as much about business as it is about creation. Posture about "The Muse" all you want to, but being able to brag about a seven-figure sale to Hollywood is infinitely better.

Sorry, the above is a pet peeve with me. Where was I? Ah, yes, the essays. Mostly amusing, all are short chapters and if you like to wallow in bathos, pathos and depression -- have at it! Bon appetite!