Cooking for One: Solo RV Meals That Aren't Depressing

When I first started traveling solo in my little Coachmen Clipper, I fell into the trap. You know the one. A frozen burrito microwaved at 9pm because I didn't feel like cooking "just for myself." A sleeve of crackers and some cheese slices called dinner. Cereal at 7pm while scrolling my phone.

It took me about three months to realize that feeding myself poorly wasn't just about the food -- it was about not valuing my own company enough to make something nice. My abuela would have been horrified. She cooked beautiful meals for herself every single day after my abuelo passed, and she'd sit at the table with a cloth napkin and eat properly. "Mija," she used to say, "you are worth the effort."

So I started cooking for real. And honestly? Cooking for one is kind of wonderful once you figure it out.

The Single-Serving Mindset

The biggest shift was learning to shop small. I buy one chicken breast, not a pack of six. One sweet potato. A small bunch of cilantro. Two tomatoes. At first I felt weird about it -- like the grocery store cashier was judging me -- but that's my own baggage, not reality. Most grocery stores now have smaller portions available, and farmer's markets are perfect for buying exactly what you need.

I also keep a few staples that last forever and make solo meals easy: a good olive oil, canned black beans (frijoles negros, always), a jar of salsa verde, rice, eggs, limes, and a bottle of Cholula. With those ingredients I can make a meal from basically nothing.

My Favorite Solo Meals

Huevos Rancheros for One - Two eggs fried in a small skillet, a corn tortilla crisped up in the same pan, warmed black beans, salsa verde, a little queso fresco if I have it, and sliced avocado. Takes ten minutes. I eat this for dinner probably twice a week and I am not ashamed. Breakfast for dinner is a legitimate life choice.

One-Pan Salmon - A single salmon fillet, skin side down in a hot skillet. While it cooks, I toss whatever vegetable I have -- asparagus, green beans, cherry tomatoes -- in the same pan around the fish. Squeeze of lemon. Done in twelve minutes. This feels fancy even though it's ridiculously simple.

Arroz con Pollo (simplified) - One chicken thigh, browned in my small dutch oven. Add rice, chicken broth, a little sofrito from a jar (Goya makes a good one), frozen peas. Let it cook covered for 20 minutes. This makes enough for dinner and lunch the next day, which is a nice bonus. The smell while it cooks reminds me of my mama's kitchen in San Antonio.

The "I Don't Want to Cook" Plate - Sometimes you just don't want to cook. That's fine. I make what I call a "tabla" -- a little board with whatever I have. Some good cheese, crackers, olives, maybe some marcona almonds, sliced apple, a few pieces of salami. Pour a glass of wine. Put on some music. It's not sad, it's sophisticated. There's a difference.

The Ritual Matters

I eat at my little RV dinette with a real plate, not a paper one. I light a candle sometimes. I don't eat standing at the counter or hunched over my phone. This isn't about being pretentious -- it's about giving myself the same respect I'd give a guest.

I also talk to other solo RVers about this because I think it's more common than people admit. The loneliness of eating alone can creep in, especially on those gray rainy evenings when you're parked somewhere new and you don't know anyone. On those nights, I call my sister or my mom while I cook. I prop the phone up and we cook "together" even though she's in her kitchen in Austin and I'm in mine in wherever.

Solo cooking isn't about deprivation. Es sobre dignidad -- it's about dignity. You deserve a good meal whether there's one plate on the table or ten. My abuela knew that. It just took me a while to learn it myself.