My friend who eats everything I feed her

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One obvious benefit to cooking and living alone is that you’re the only one around to lick the batter bowl.


But what you really need is a good eating friend, someone who is willing to eat whatever you make. I make fun of B all the time, for preferring Breyer’s ice cream to premium gelato and otherwise being the child of a mother who never cooked with butter, but she really is the best friend I could have. She doesn’t really like the taste of fat, yet she graciously lets me feed her braised short ribs rendered meltingly tender by their own fat, roast chicken with potatoes roasted in the chicken’s own fat, and cakes fatty with butter and eggs.

We were supposed to go to Greenpoint last night to eat Polish food with some friends, but with the piles of snow and ice around, she suggested we make Irish soda bread, innocently not even realizing it was St. Patrick’s Day. It was the perfect excuse for me to make the “World’s Best-Braised Cabbage” from “All About Braising,” fry up some turkey sausage from DiPalo’s stand at the farmers’ market, and roast some rosemary-garlic potato chunks. I’m sure turkey sausage isn’t particularly Irish, but it seemed Irish, and it was hearty and warming on a cold night. I pointed out to her that it was a pretty healthy dinner, since there wasn’t much butter or oil involved, but she didn’t really believe me.

And bless her heart, she didn’t even protest when I told her I wanted her to come back for dinner the next night, when I was planning to make lasagna and chocolate pound cake, courtesy of Candy on Chowhound Home Cooking.

Oh Sunday. Is there anything better than having a chocolate cake baking in the oven and a bolognese sauce simmering on the stove on a lazy Sunday afternoon?

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