Five albums to listen to while preparing dinner

One bachelor's arbitrary list


1) OutKast, The Love Below, pepper stir-fry.
While this one dish won’t put you on PETA’s list of the Sexiest Vegetarians alongside Andre 3000, it is sexy in its own way. Pop in the disc and boil some water on the stove for your noodles or rice—or, if you’re a real Italian paesano like me, with spaghetti or linguine. Wash and slice whatever vegetables suit your fancy to the funked-out jazz rhythms of “Love Hater.” Or, if you don’t have time to buy fresh, a bag of frozen stir-fry mix (Ice cold!!) will be fine. By the time it’s “Valentine’s Day,” your water should be boiling and your head should be bobbin’. Cook your starch and heat your frying pan with oil. When the oil starts to dance, that means that either “Hey Ya!” has come up on the stereo or it’s time to add the vegetables. Stir the contents regularly while shakin’ ya szechuan like a Polaroid picture. After your noodles have cooked and been strained to the beat of “Behold a Lady,” toss them in the fry pan with some hot and spicy oil. Not too much, though—you don’t want your breath to scare off the ladies. And in case you were wondering, Speakerboxxx makes a good soundtrack while you do the dishes.

2) Sloan, Action Pact, tuna noodle casserole.
Like most dinners, this one begins by chopping onions and boiling water. “Gimme That” is a great opener, one that energizes you to round up the utensils and ingredients you need. The energy and the pop hooks continue through “Live On” and “Backstabbin’” as your onions soften and your lips unconsciously form the shape of the words. One thing I know about “The Rest of My Life”: with its bouncy beat and sincere lyrics, it was made for bachelors to sing along to while they stir in milk and Campbell’s cream of mushroom. The only tricky thing about this meal is keeping an eye on the sauce while making sure that the noodles don’t overcook; the echoed refrains of “False Alarm” make a good reference point for when you should sample a noodle to see if they’re done. Most of the time, you can get everything in the oven by the time the syncopated riffs of “Ready for You” come on. For the twenty minutes that the dish is baking, you can start to clean up the kitchen over the choruses of “I Was Wrong” and “Fade Away.” Or, just sit back, open a beer, and rock out to the delicious smells and sounds.

3) Jacky Terrasson, Smile, pasta with tomato sauce.
The rhythmic verve and clever quotations in the opener, Bud Powell’s “Parisian Thoroughfare,” is enough to make my water want to boil (though it usually doesn’t literally do so until track three). The album’s title track contains a thousand sentiments; go with whatever one seems most dominant on that particular evening to choose which cut of pasta to cook. When I’m feeling pensive, it’s ziti; when I’m feeling bouncy, it’s elbows. Spaghetti is there for when I need comfort. The tomato sauce can also be as personal as you want it to be. I regrettably pour mine out of a jar while making empty promises to make some myself the next time; this hollow vow usually comes during “Sous le Ciel de Paris.” The dish comes together during the clipped phrasings of Terrasson’s solo on “Isn’t She Lovely?” (Aside: Should I really trust Stevie Wonder’s judgment on how attractive a girl is? I love Stevie and all, but if he were setting me up with someone, his endorsement is as useful as a quadriplegic’s trying to sell me a sportscar.) After you’ve finished dining, pour yourself and extra glass of red wine and brood your way through “Autumn Leaves” and “My Funny Valentine,” two standards in the songbook or wistfulness. Finally, warm your body (and your soul) with a hot cup of tea and hit the repeat button on the gorgeous “L’air de rien.”

4) The Fugees, The Score, beef tacos.
This album sizzles with adventurous beats and deft rhymes. Accordingly, you should begin by sizzling your ground beef with some chopped onion and green pepper and the soulful beat of “How Many Mics.” While that’s browning, heat some black beans and garlic until it bubbles like the rhymes from “Ready or Not.” By the time you get to the flavorful hip-hop of “Fu-Gee-La,” you know it’s time to stir in your own flavor to the beef; a packet of McCormick does the trick just fine. Let Lauryn Hill testify through her sexy cover of “Killing Me Softly” while you salsa-fy your taco before wrapping it up. Chow down and chill out to Wyclef’s “No Woman No Cry”—if you didn’t bother to make guacamole, you’ll be regretting it by the time the album reaches this tropical point. Open another Corona, drop in a lime wedge to defend yourself against scurvy, and nod through the additional Caribbean aroma of “Manifest/Outro.” Unfortunately, the Fugees went their separate ways after this album, but you can use any one of their solo albums while you heat your leftovers over subsequent nights.

5) The Dandy Warhols, Thirteen Tales from Urban Bohemia, peanut butter sandwich with pre-washed bagged salad.
Even (especially?) urban hipsters have their nights when they’re not in the mood to fuss around in the kitchen. This album’s catchy hooks and ironic lyrics will get inside your head and make you smirk at your own existence. Be sure to stop by your neighborhood yuppie organic bakery for some overpriced whole grain bread on your way home from your job as a data entry temp. Ideally, the bread should cost as much as the one 12-ounce peanut butter jar you’ve been using for months, or about what you earned in half an hour at work. In the kitchen, let your serrated knife slice through the bread like the trumpets cut through the soundscape of the opening track, “Godless.” The low, snarling guitar noise of “Nietzsche” will make you tempted to use the same large knife to spread the peanut butter, but you’re better off with a conservative butterknife even though it will be one more thing for you to wash when you’re done. After that’s ready, pour your salad into a bowl when you’re not clapping your hands along with “Country Leaver” and wishing that you too were on your way to Amsterdam. Hold back your jealousy when you hear Courtney Taylor speak-singingly brag about his “beautiful new Asian girlfriend” on “Solid”; you’ll want to channel that energy to stirring in some olives, croutons, and low-fat vinaigrette. At this point, you’re ready to pour yourself a glass of seltzer, open up your local free alternative weekly, and nod your head through “Horse Pills” and “Get Off.” If you’re still hungry by the time you get to the radio-friendly and über-sardonic “Bohemian Like You,” spread some Nutella on what’s left of your bread or crack open a cup of yogurt—unless you’re vegan, of course. Even after the album ends, it’s important to remain as cynical and ironic as ever and deny yourself any sincere emotions (or health insurance). If you feel like you need emotional support, there’s a hotline you can call that connects to a semi-employed twentysomething blogger/aspiring writer in Williamsburg.


Honorable mention: John Coltrane, A Love Supreme, Sunday brunch.
If you can’t make it to church in the morning (either because you were too busy or just couldn’t wake up), this album is the next best thing. If you’re just coming back from church, it certainly doesn’t hurt to get some extra J.C. in your morning. There’s nothing wrong with fresh bagels and coffee and the newspaper, of course, but it’s worth doing some heartier cooking for an experience that’s extra fulfilling (and just plain filling). Nothing sets the mood better than the opening motive of “Acknowledgment.” If you’re cooking for yourself, you can have your potatoes washed, peeled, and sliced before McCoy Tyner even begins his solo. The repeated incantations and transpositions on “a LOVE su-PREME” will make your frying pan come alive and accept the glory of your vegetable oil and potatoes. Upon the ascending fourth that begins “Pursuance,” you should be ready to wash and slice your green pepper. For an extra challenge, try to chop in Elvin Jonesian polyrhythms. Be sure to stir your potatoes regularly to assure that they cook evenly. Coltrane’s solo, however, can cook as asymmetrically as it wants to. I mean, it’s John fucking Coltrane we’re talking about. Try not to get too awestruck by Elvin’s three-minute freestyling solo to open “Resolution/Psalm” and add some sliced sausage or wieners and a scrambled egg when the potatoes and pepper are almost fully cooked. This will complete your meal in time for you to start eating to the transcendent finale. Praise God, Coltrane, and your cast-iron frying pan.