Advantages of Decreasing Dinner Sizes

There are two kinds of people. Those who exclaim Congratulations! when you inform them you’re getting divorced, and those who seize your arm and sigh, That’s so sad!

Indeed, initially, it was strange to cook for three, or two, or one, instead of our usual four-person family. But I wouldn’t label it as sad. It was odd. It was novel. It was quieter.

Once my ex and I settled that I would remain in the family home, I pondered how this new situation seemed from my younger son Cosmo’s perspective. Dad’s at his place, brother’s at college, and now you dine alone with your mom. From my viewpoint across the table, I was adjusting to not seeing him during my off weeks, and I tried hard to avoid overwhelming him with all my attention when we were together again. Be cool, Mom. Normalcy doesn’t involve being interrogated for updates each time you see your parent. Even with that restraint, finding dinner conversation wasn’t a challenge. Some seats remained empty, meaning he no longer witnessed parental tension; he didn’t need to interrupt his older brother; and I still cooked the whole pound of pasta. This scenario wasn’t anyone’s primary choice. But — it could be worse.

From that point, the more one-on-one moments we shared, the more our bond strengthened. Because our two-person setup had never existed before, there weren’t any pre-established triggers, and we developed a new interaction as time went on.

Cooking for mother and child proved to be objectively simpler and cheaper. Preparing fewer ingredients also demanded less time. Plus, what I marketed as “dinner” became much more relaxed. Hard-boiled eggs and toast with salami and a large salad? That’s a meal. The voices insisting this period should be horrible quieted as I found my rhythm and embraced the freedom of assembling meals spontaneously, instead of worrying at 4 p.m. about lacking enough protein at home.

I had a manager who said: There are no problems, only challenges. He used this to discourage complaints, and I think he’d be pleased to know it motivated our evening meals too. I was prepared to set up a three-step dredging station for breaded chicken cutlets on a weeknight. There were fewer breasts to flatten, not as many breadcrumbs to mix, and the assembly line ran swiftly. To enjoy cutlets midweek was a delight: Cutlets are fantastic.

One day, I picked up a vacuum-sealed rack of lamb chops for the two of us. Expensive per pound, yet fewer pounds required. Enjoying lamb makes any occasion special, and I wanted every moment with Cosmo to feel special. No longer did we await a reason to light candles. It became routine along with forks and knives, while we played with the wax that spilled over the wick and dripped down after eating. I loved this as a child, and enjoyed doing it with my child.

Other rituals took shape. A one-and-done pesto pasta turned into our Monday night special, which evolved into TV dinner night — impractical as a quartet, but pleasant as a pair. We’d sit side by side on the TV room floor with bowls on the coffee table. We enjoy Bob’s Burgers, The Office, Parks and Recreation. We discovered Cosmo had overcome his dislike for fish sauce after I included it in a beef marinade; the resulting stir-fry became another weekly staple. Skipping dessert, we ended meals with a friendly negotiation: Are you ready to make a deal? The terms remain: How do we share dish duty, who’s It for the last dog walk, and who collects the cardboard recycling. This is our routine. It’s self-referential within our unit; it grows and adapts based on the flair one of us brings to the post-dinner accords. (I would rather load the dishwasher again than handle another dog walk.)

So, no. It’s not sad. It’s merely different.

Sometimes we have a stand-up dinner at the kitchen island: steamed (frozen) dumplings and edamame with sesame oil and black pepper; repeated quesadilla servings; Mexican delivery from a nearby spot. Sometimes, Cosmo returns late and makes his own meal. I want to watch, but I force myself not to hover — mainly because I can’t watch the mess develop. He appears with hot ramen he eats straight from the pot, perfectly fried eggs he snaps and sends to friends, exquisite grilled cheese sandwiches he parades under my nose. The secret is mayonnaise and low heat, he shares as I beg for a taste.

Big change is uncomfortable, a counseling phrase I repeated to myself during that transition. Cosmo and I discuss the difficulties of shifting between two households, the irritation of repeating details for each parent, the awkwardness of those first holidays and vacations spent apart. These are the unchangeable downsides accompanying divorce. I can’t control his feelings on these transitions; I can only be present when we talk. What’s before us at the table, though — here we have a mutual say and target, and somehow, we both know how to nourish ourselves.

*****

Lemony Chickpea Stew With Rice
From Food Is a Feeling: Recipes & Stories, With Love by Carla Lalli
Serves 4, or 2 with leftovers

For the Stew
2 lemons
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
6 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
4 celery stalks, cut into small dice
2 medium leeks, sliced into ½-inch-thick rounds, rinsed and blotted dry
Kosher salt; freshly ground pepper
2 (15.5-ounce) cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 teaspoon coriander seeds, crushed
1 teaspoon dried dill
1 teaspoon dried mint
¾ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
½ cup long-grain white rice, rinsed
4 cups chicken or vegetable stock

For the Magic Green Sauce and Serving
Ice
4 big handfuls of mature spinach, trimmed and roughly chopped
2 cups mixed loosely packed herbs, such as cilantro, dill, and/or chives
½ cup nutritional yeast
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 garlic clove
Kosher salt; freshly ground pepper

For Serving
Greek yogurt
1 lemon, cut into wedges
Olive oil, for drizzling
Crushed red pepper flakes
Kosher salt; freshly ground pepper

Make the stew:

Use a vegetable peeler to remove the zest in wide strips from 1 lemon. Squeeze ¼ cup of juice from that lemon, and possibly 1 more. Set zest and juice aside, separately. Heat a heavy deep skillet with a lid or 4-quart Dutch oven over medium. Add the olive oil, garlic, celery, and leeks. Season with salt and pepper and cook, stirring frequently, until the vegetables get juicy, about 3 minutes. Cover the pot and cook until the leeks soften, 3 to 5 minutes.

Uncover, allowing steam to drip back into the pot, and increase the heat to medium-high. Cook, stirring, until the garlic is light golden. Lower the heat to medium, add the chickpeas, and stir to coat. Add the coriander, dill, mint, pepper flakes, and strips of zest. Stir to bloom the spices. Stir in the rice. Add the stock and 2 tablespoons lemon juice (save the rest of the juice for the sauce).

Bring the liquid to a simmer, then cover the pot, lower the heat to medium-low, and cook gently until the rice is tender, about 15 minutes.

Make the Magic Green Sauce:

Place two ice cubes into a blender jar and top with the spinach, herbs, nutritional yeast, olive oil, and the remaining 2 tablespoons lemon juice. Finely grate the garlic right into the mix and season with salt and pepper. Blend until smooth and emulsified, about 2 minutes (the ice helps keep the mixture green). Add water by the tablespoon if needed to get the blades turning. Transfer the sauce to a bowl; you should have about 1 cup or a bit more. Taste and season the sauce as needed.

Check the stew for seasoning; loosen if desired with more stock or hot water. Serve the stew topped with a big spoonful each of yogurt and Magic Green Sauce, lemon wedges, a drizzle of olive oil, a pinch of pepper flakes, and some salt and pepper.

Carla Lalli’s fantastic new cookbook, Food Is a Feeling comes out on September 8th. In her book, she shares cherished recipes and heartfelt essays about the transformative period following the end of her 24-year marriage. A former Bon Appetit editor, she now writes the newsletter Food Processing. Thank you, Carla! xoxo

P.S. Five things that surprised Joanna about her divorce, and what food geniuses eat when they’re home alone.

(Excerpted from Food Is a Feeling by Carla Lalli. Copyright © 2026 by Carla Lalli. Photographs copyright © 2026 by Lucia Bell-Epstein. Published in the United States by Clarkson Potter/Publishers, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.)