Dust Bowl Dining: Notes from a Haunted Kitchen

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Hello, friend.

It’s been a week in the haunted kitchen. On Monday, a contractor finally came to repair the cabinetry and patch the holes in the ceiling from the water leak. I’m debating what to call the whole fiasco—“Operation Dust Bowl”? “The Day the Sky Fell”? If you’ve got a better title, drop it in the comments or email me. I may even make a scrapbook of the chaos, complete with photos of the damage, artfully decorated with dust, paint chips, and bits of insulation. Very avant-garde.

Disaster nomenclature aside, the mess has been a creative chokehold. I’ve eaten more than my share of chocolate and cooked nothing more complicated than Snoop Dogg–style steelhead trout and a Caesar salad kit. Even the ghost seems uninspired, parked at the far end of the bar, muttering into a glass of something that looks like whiskey. I don’t know where he found it—my pantry inventory is down to a split of white wine for cooking and peach brandy left over from a clafoutis.

Last night I rallied. I wiped the dust off the countertops and stove, dug out the bacon, eggs, and cheese, and the ghost perked right up.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Bodega Sandwich.” (Appetites, page 74.)

Bingo. I had no interest in dirtying every pot in the house or spending more than 30 minutes in the kitchen. Everywhere I look, there’s drywall dust begging for a hazmat team. But if you squint, the whole place does have a kind of seasonal spooky vibe with all the graveyard drywall dust.

Let’s cook.

Bacon: parchment-lined sheet pan, oven at 350. Twenty-ish minutes depending on thickness and desired crispness. It’s the only way to guarantee flat bacon.

Eggs: whisk with salt and pepper, then into a hot pan with a little bacon fat. Anthony’s note: “You’re not making scrambled eggs here, you’re making a kind of value-neutral omelet.”

“Value-neutral” stopped me cold. Google defines it as remaining objective and unbiased—so, what, an omelet so devoid of character it could have been made by Julia Child, Jacques Pépin, Anthony himself… or no one at all? I have no idea how to conjure the culinary equivalent of beige paint. I just focused on not overcooking them. Because overcooked eggs are a sin.

Cheese: three slices of American plus one provolone (or four American, if that’s what is in your cheese drawer). Soft, melty, and glossy.

Roll: toast the cut sides of a Kaiser roll, then layer on bacon, eggs, cheese, and the top bun.

Of course, I lost one bun half to my Doberman the moment I turned around. If not for the quick reflexes of the ghost, the bacon and eggs would have disappeared too. And yes—she sees him. They’ve got some kind of ongoing prank where I never know which one is goosing me while I cook.

This week’s takeaway?
The state of your kitchen directly affects your appetite for creativity. But you can still make something delicious with very little fuss—and without sacrificing your sanity. No, I don’t mean frozen gourmet mac and cheese microwaved in desperation (though let’s be honest, in a true disaster, that’ll do too).

Next week? I had souffle in mind. But apparently Les Halles was a souffle-free zone—or at least, the recipe never made it into the book. So…how about French onion soup instead?

Disclaimer: As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. Translation: if you click one of my links and buy something, I may collect a tiny commission (no extra cost to you). Consider it a tip for keeping the ghost in wine, whiskey, and bacon.

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