Getting Sticky With Alison Roman

Photos by Georgia Hilmer, Words by Anamaria Glavan

Peas with anchovies, spring chicken with crispy leeks, baked shells, some wine-roasted artichokes. Perhaps a heaping bowl of salted chocolate pudding or mint chip ice cream cake for dessert. Is your mouth watering? You can thank Alison Roman for that. 

If you’ve wandered through the bookstore cooking section or spent a mere five minutes on Pinterest, you already know that Roman is the New York-based cook, writer, and author whose recipes can inspire the most novice cook to hit the farmer’s market in pursuit of a decadent homemade meal. (Editor’s note: we’re very much appreciative of experts who encourage us to pause on the Seamless spending, okay?) 

Excitingly, her New York Times bestsellers Sweet Enough, Dining In, and Nothing Fancy are about to gain a fresh new sibling: Something from Nothing. This latest project emphasizes simplicity, the act of searching your pantry and using the ingredients like a tin of anchovies or a jar of fennel seed to turn an old recipe into something exciting. The endeavor unintentionally mirrors Roman’s current chapter—postpartum life with her baby boy, Charlie—and the primal, unfussy recipes she’s craving most.

“A watched pot never boils” 

My husband and I had tried to get pregnant for a little over a year with no luck (and no clear reason why). Eventually, we decided to use the eggs I froze when I was 35 to make embryos. Then, the February  after I turned 38, we started the process of transferring those embryos. I went through two rounds. Neither one worked. It was devastating. 

The doctors couldn’t explain it; the embryos were healthy, my body was healthy. I do have an existing autoimmune condition and I think that could’ve played a role. But regardless, it was really tough on both of us psychologically. I kept thinking, Why can’t this happen? I felt like I’d waited too long, like I was too old. It started to feel like maybe I wasn’t meant to be a mom, or maybe I was messing with the universe too much by trying to force it. The doctor said we could put the third embryo in, but I needed a break mentally. And then…I got pregnant totally out of the blue. Like, wouldn't you fuckin’ know it? 

When I lived in San Francisco, people would say, If you want the bus to come, light a cigarette. Because as soon as you stop looking for it, that’s when it shows up. A watched pot never boils. The overarching theme for me, which is so annoying to hear, is that as soon as you stop trying, it happens. All those clichés end up being true.

And they called it (unconditional)  love 

I have a really complicated relationship with my mother. We don’t really have one right now. It’s always been fraught and messy, and because of that, becoming a mom wasn’t something I dreamed about. What I did want was to have a relationship, some connection, that felt maternal and caring, something that resembled unconditional love. That desire tied into meeting my husband and getting married. I never envisioned a wedding day or thought, I want to be a bride, I want to be a wife. I just wanted to meet a partner and build a family. That always felt more important to me than anything else.

We’re all new here, okay? 

People look to me as an authority when it comes to cooking.  And when I make a statement, I can stand behind it. You don’t have to soak your beans. You don’t have to wash your chicken. 450 is the best oven temperature. But being a mom is totally different. Everyone who’s had a child, assuming all things are equal and you're not a professional caregiver or doctor or doula, you’re just a regular person with a baby. And we’re all on the same level when it comes to information.

What I’m trying to say is: I’ll post a photo of how I’m holding my baby online and someone will comment, That’s not how you should hold your baby, or That carrier looks too small. Whatever it is. And suddenly, people feel empowered to tell me what to do because I’m no longer the expert. That’s been a challenge. 

Because I’m a new mom, it feels like there’s this transference of information that happens—like, the floodgates of opinions and information open the moment you talk about being pregnant or having a child because it’s such a widely shared experience.

And again, we’re all kind of on a level playing field. If you’ve had a child and I’ve had a child, I see us as having the same baseline of knowledge. Sure, maybe you’ve read 18 more books than I have, or maybe you’ve got 14 kids and I have one, but every pregnancy is different, every body is different, every baby is different, every experience is different. So even with all that, we’re kind of working from the same playbook, figuring it out as we go.

But the bombardment of opinions and judgment, especially in this one-way mirror that is the internet, just hit me. Even before Charlie was born, I saw it coming, and I was like, I’m not strong enough for that. I don’t want to enter that chat. My thoughts on motherhood, my feelings, they’re constantly shifting. I feel vulnerable. I feel unprotected. I don’t always feel confident in my choices. And to share that in front of 700,000 people, many of whom feel empowered to judge or comment on what I’m doing? I’m just a little too raw for that right now.

A spoonful of broth for me, thanks  

My relationship with food has never shifted so drastically or frequently as it has in the past 11 months. It’s been wild. In the first trimester, I was living off crackers, broth, maybe a spoonful of cottage cheese. And even then, barely. Anything else made me throw up. Food was completely uninteresting to me. I couldn’t stomach the idea of meat or fish.

I was in rough shape because of it. Not just physically, but emotionally. Food has always been my identity, my livelihood. And I was gearing up to shoot my next book, which comes out in the fall (and is available for preorder now).

I remember thinking: How the hell do I write and shoot a whole book when the thought of food makes my stomach turn? Things eased up a bit in the second trimester, and by the third, I started to feel more like myself, going to restaurants, enjoying meals again. Then postpartum hit, and my appetite came back almost immediately. I felt carnivorous. Yesterday I ate a cold, rare steak straight from the fridge and it was incredible. My body just knew what it needed.

I had a C-section, so I couldn’t cook for a few weeks. I relied on friends, many of whom are great cooks, others who knew exactly where to order from. A lot of broths, soups, soft things. I’ve always eaten intuitively, but it’s never felt more essential or more primal than it does now.

Roasting chicken 101  

I started working when I was 18 or 19, got my first restaurant job, and from that moment on, my entire identity, all my aspirations, everything I did was for food, for cooking, for my job. My career was the focus. That evolved over the years, sure, but it’s always been where all my energy and priorities lived.

It’s strange. You build a whole career on telling people how to roast a chicken or giving them a good weeknight pasta recipe. And my writing has always been rooted in where I’m at in real life. Like: here’s what I did this week, here’s what I cooked because of it. And now I'm engaging in something that not everyone can participate in. It feels a bit exclusionary; I'm trying to navigate my authenticity with my desire to feel like I have a responsibility to make sure that people feel included. 

I’m sure I’ll lose followers or subscribers, sure. It’s an ebb and flow. People come, people go. But there’s some peace in knowing there’s something for everyone and I no longer feel beholden to being that everything for everyone.

Mat leave = a very brief do not disturb mode 

I took four weeks off but it didn’t really feel like time off; in postpartum time, four weeks just means four weeks of recovering and lying there thinking what the f** just happened, not really sleeping or resting, being in a completely different (beautiful, hazy, wonderful) world. 

But around four weeks, I started feeling a little restless, like maybe I was ready to work again. I tried for two days and immediately thought, Nope. At six weeks, I kind of had to start working again because I needed to finish my book. Charlie came a month early, so I lost time I was counting on to wrap things up. 

It wasn’t even about not spending time with the baby because he was right there sleeping beside me. It was the guilt of not being able to fully immerse myself in this moment because my brain was spinning: I haven’t put out a newsletter in six weeks. The book deadline’s coming up. I should start lining up work so I can earn money and support this new life.

It’s not as cut and dry as telling people, Don’t talk to me for three to six months, and then popping back in. I didn’t do a great job with the balance, but honestly, I did better than I thought I would. That’s the short version.

Postpartum cost-benefit analysis: Is it worth the cost of a babysitter? 

I’m definitely choosier about what projects I take on now. I think that’s probably pretty common because you start really weighing everything: Is this money worth it? Is the emotional fulfillment worth it? Is this worth the time away from my child? Even down to Is it worth the money I’d spend on childcare just to leave the house?

Everything requires a cost-benefit analysis for everything, and honestly, a lot of times, the answer is no. I’d rather be with my baby than go to that dinner. Or like, why would I spend $100 on a babysitter just to go make not-that-much money? You look at things more judiciously.

And that’s not even factoring in the energy side of things; how much sleep you are or aren’t getting. But in terms of overall goals, I feel really lucky that I had a baby at a time when my career is more established. I can say no to work. I can make my own hours and really design my days in a way I couldn’t have five or six years ago.

It’s also reinforced how grateful I am to be doing what I do. I can still write. I can still make things. I can have my laptop on the baby chair while he naps next to me. I’m trying to “have it all,” which is such a weird phrase and I don’t even know what it means, but honestly, this setup works for me right now. It has its ups and downs, but being able to integrate him into my life instead of feeling like everything has to stop or be siloed feels really good.

Emphasizing simplicity in food and flavor 

My new book comes out in November. It’s called Something from Nothing. The whole idea behind it is that you can make something really satisfying from almost nothing. That concept, and even the title, was locked in before I got pregnant, though it’s funny how much it ended up reflecting exactly how I wanted to cook during this phase of my life.

The food in the book is simple and focused on appreciating individual ingredients. Like, Wow, an onion is actually really cool. Or just asking: What do I always need in my kitchen to be able to make something good? For me, it's lentils, onions, beans, chili flakes, and a lemon. With that, I can make so much. 

Even though the book isn't about pregnancy or postpartum life, it wound up feeling very aligned with that period. I think that's because my work is always colored by my personal experience. I find it really hard to separate the two. So while Something from Nothing is meant to be timeless—not a “baby” book or a “mom” book—it still mirrors where I was emotionally and practically when I was writing it.

Is this… allowed? 

The first restaurant we went to was Rucola. I’ve been going long enough to know they’re super stroller-friendly and very parent-friendly in general.

Max wore Charlie in the little Solly wrap and we were like, Oh my god, we’re in a restaurant. Is this allowed? Are we going to get in trouble? It felt so surreal, like, there’s a baby in here! Now it feels totally normal. We know to bring a bottle, we time it so we have about an hour and twenty minutes out, and we try to go to spots we know can accommodate a stroller.

Other moms have warned us too about where we can’t go, where they won’t allow a stroller. So we’re like, okay, we’ll bring the Doona instead, because it folds and makes things easier. You kind of feel like you’re gaming the system. Right now, it’s still working, and we don’t know how long we’ll be able to bring Charlie out without a meltdown. But so far, so good.