How Six Cans of Chickpeas Led Me Back to Alison Roman

Alison Roman’s latest cookbook, Something from Nothing.

The other night, I found myself staring blankly at my “pantry” (I say pantry in quotes because I don’t think my cabinet that has cooking staples in it quite qualifies as a pantry). What possessed me when I felt it was necessary to buy anchovies? Do I suddenly have amnesia when I walk down the bean aisle at the grocery store—surely I knew I already had five cans of chickpeas before I bought the sixth? And, seriously, how long have those canned tomatoes been there?

Within an instant, I was transported back to 2017. I was living in New York City at the time, and I had just purchased one of my favorite cookbooks: Dining In, by Alison Roman. I remember reading through it in my tiny (but charming) apartment and making note of which recipes I wanted to try first. But what stuck out to me the most (during my initial read-through) was the pantry list Roman included at the beginning of the book. “The pantry list is not a mandate, but if you have most of these things, it’ll make cooking the recipes in this book much easier,” she declared. And thus began my journey, keeping my “pantry” stocked at all times so that I was always prepared to make something from nothing.

Happy Alison Roman pub date to all who celebrate. There are few things I get more excited about than the release of a cookbook I’m highly anticipating. These are the cookbooks that remain relevant, even necessary, throughout the years. And as a proud owner of Dining In, Nothing Fancy, Sweet Enough and, as of most recently, Something from Nothing, I can attest to the fact that Roman’s books stand the test of time—and, dare I say, have made—and continue to make—me a better cook.

After the (beautifully green) cookbook got delivered to my doorstep today, I quickly skimmed through and immediately texted my friend. “OK, if Alison describes her new cookbook as “adult—even mature,” then I guess that means we’re mature now too.” And while I’ve come to this realization that I, a 32-year old woman who’s been married for almost five years, am now mature, I’ll always read through a new Alison Roman cookbook with the same youthful immaturity I had as that 25-year old living in Manhattan who had just read through Dining In.

And I think that’s the beauty of it. No matter how much older or “more adult” we become, the act of cooking and experimenting with new recipes, ingredients and flavors brings us back to past curious, creative versions of ourselves time and time again. The version of myself who didn’t yet know the difference between an anchovy fillet and anchovy paste. The version of myself who felt a sense of pride just by caramelizing onions in a stainless steel pan without burning them. The version of myself who was scared to stray away from an exact recipe and try something new.

For me, Something from Nothing feels like a full-circle moment. It’s not about proving you can pull off a fancy dinner party, quite the opposite really, it’s about having confidence and trusting that you can make something with what you already have. And that quiet confidence? That feels like the most “adult” version of cooking to me.

Maybe that’s the real magic of a well-stocked pantry, not that it’s overflowing with jars and cans, but that it holds endless potential. The tin of anchovies, the extra can of chickpeas, the forgotten tomatoes—they’re all reminders that something good—delicious, even—is usually within reach. Something from Nothing, as it turns out, isn’t about a lack of ingredients at all. It’s about possibility.

So today, as I stood in front of my “pantry,” I felt a little less confused about and frustrated by its chaos. Every can, jar and bottle tells a story of something I’ve made—or something I will make (even if only in my head). And maybe that’s why I keep restocking it—everything I need is there, I just have to decide what to do with it.

As Roman writes in Something from Nothing, this book “is about finding joy and satisfaction in the tiny miracles of cooking—all of the deliciousness that comes from making something from nothing.” Maybe that’s what the “pantry” really is: A small collection of tiny miracles, waiting to happen.