1. I’ve invited Amy over for dinner. I have no money, but I have groceries. I will make breakfast for dinner because I already have all the things for breakfast for dinner. Classic. Easy. Cut up some potatoes. Mix with spices and garlic and oil. Preheat oven, put in oven. Shred some cheese. Make a salad. Make a salad dressing. Wait until Amy gets here and con her into making the omelettes because she won’t burn them and they’ll be great. “Thanks for dinner, ” we both say at the end. ($0)

2. I’ve invited Matt over for dinner. I have no money, but I have groceries. I have some cans of things and some jars of other things and a box of rice. Pour some cans of black beans and corn and tomatoes into a pan. Add garlic—wait, cook the garlic first, duh. Scoop the garlic out and put it in a pan with oil, cut up an onion too. When that’s done, add it to the beans and corn and tomatoes. Stir it up. Add a bunch of cumin. Cook some rice. Scoop rice and beans into bowl cover with salsa put handful of arugula on top, cut up some grape tomatoes. “This is pretty good for being all canned stuff,” Matt says. ($0)

3. I’ve invited Mike over for dinner. I’ve done so well with making dinner out of groceries that I’m going to keep on keeping on with that theme. I’ll make … roasted vegetables and also roasted potatoes. And a big salad. I should double check I have everything I need. But first I’ll take 20-minute nap.

An hour later the buzzer rings and I wake up. Welcome Mike, please come in, Mike. I know I look like I just woke up but I’ve been up for ages, three minutes at least. I haven’t cooked yet but I will do that shortly. Here, have some wine. It’s the cheap kind from Trader Joe’s but I’ve had it for three weeks so it’s practically vintage. Let me start cooking, hold please. Where are my potatoes? They have to be here, somewhere? Did I eat them? Mike and I both look for potatoes. Roommate comes in: “Your potatoes were rotten so I threw them out.” Moving on. I put the arugula in a bowl and am looking for something to add to it when I make a decision: I’m not going to cook. I probably was never going to cook. I break the news to Mike and he laughs, and I order takeout. We drink some wine. We eat our takeout. “Sorry I invited you over for dinner and then ordered takeout,” I say. “I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he didn’t say, but maybe should have. The last time I was at his house, he made three courses, but I’m not going to think of that. I only have to tell him twice that I don’t want or need his money. ($37, incl. tip)

It’s been a year and a half since finishing up college, and so far I’ve been pretty lucky when it comes to keeping up with friends. But while it’s been pretty easy to catch some face time with the old crew (and carefully, cautiously ingratiate them with the new crew) the obligatory barhopping that comes along can get sort of… boring—not to mention pricey for everyone involved. So I decided to do what anyone with a one-bedroom apartment and some space for entertaining would do: Throw a fancy dinner party for some friends, without spending fancy dinner party money (which, you know, I don’t exactly have).

After checking to make sure I still had some free invites on Paperless Post, I crafted an invite to set a highbrow tone for the guests-to-be (in hindsight, it would probably have made the world’s design majors shake their heads in aesthetically pleasing unison). I asked half the recipients to bring wine and half to bring appetizers, knowing we’d probably get through plenty of both. I also took the risk and put “Cocktail Attire” in tiny cursive script at the bottom, thinking that would be the classiest and least-annoying way to let everyone know they’d probably have to do extra laundry before coming.

The final RSVP tally was eight yeses, two regrets, and a record-low three email bounce backs from discontinued addresses (my friends are apparently awful when it comes to migrating off their old college accounts). Total cost so far, not including any snacks eaten during invitation design: $0.

I sent the invites out two weeks ahead of time, which gave me extra time to procrastinate before getting my act together. Beyond borrowing an extra fold-up table from my neighbor and buying a new bottle of bourbon on the way home from work—which I ended up finishing, ahem, well before the party—I didn’t prep anything until the day of.

Eventually the to-do list caught up with me, and I spent the better part of the morning of the dinner figuring out what the hell I was going to cook (probably not the way most successful dinner parties are planned). Fortunately, my Iron Chef of a mother hadn’t raised me without an emergency meal backup plan, which I was all too happy to cash in a few hours before game time: When in doubt, make a roast. They’re easy, they’re cheap, and they’re set-it-and-forget-it meals that’ll give you a few hours of untended cook time to get everything else in gear. Plus, they’re easy to make gluten and dairy free in case food allergies are a concern. Here’s my tested-in-the-line-of-fire recipe that served nine:

• 8 pounds boneless rump roast (This was actually two four-pound roasts on sale; turns out a little under a pound of meat per person will leave everyone plenty satisfied.)
• 3 Bunches Carrots
• 10 Red Potatoes
• 3 Large White Onions
• 2 Cans Beef Broth
• 2 Cans Beef Consommé
• 1 Bottle Charles Shaw Sauvignon Blanc (I crossed two fingers and hoped the meal wouldn’t smell like Trader Joes at rush hour.)

Place half the cleaned and cut carrots, halved potatoes, and thickly sliced onions in the bottom of the biggest pot you can find, then place the meat on top. Stuff all leftover veggies around the meat, then dump in the broth and consommé. Top it off with the wine until there’s about an inch of meat sticking out of the liquid. Add in two teaspoons of salt and two teaspoons black pepper. Cover, then stick in the oven at 350 degrees for three hours (or a little more depending on the meat’s thickness).

Total cost, even in an astronomically expensive New York City supermarket: $74.27, or about $8 per person.

Once everything was in the oven, I went about turning my apartment from bachelor-chic to guest-acceptable. Couch cleared, countertops cleaned, floor Swiffered, and rogue socks shot into the hamper from three-point range (made 3 of 5, not bad). I placed the two folding tables lengthwise to create a banquet hall atmosphere (needed more banquet) and set out the requisite number of chairs (and hey, only half were of the folding variety!). In a semi-panic to do better than the tables’ standard cinderblock white, I dug out two clean black bed sheets from my closet for some makeshift tablecloths, which I topped with plates, silverware, glasses, and the cheapest votive candles Walgreens can sell.

Figuring people might want more than wine, I dragged my side table out of the bedroom to set up a makeshift bar: 1 (new) bottle of bourbon, a bowl of ice, a bottle of bitters, and a jar of maple syrup. Voila! Maple Syrup Old Fashioned station for around $40 flat. That brought my final cost for the whole ordeal to $118.19, or about $13 per person—a number I’ll take to wine and dine nine hungry 20-somethings in New York.

I tossed my work clothes in the hamper and threw on slacks, a button up, and tie just in time for the first guests arrived to an apartment smelling like grandma’s kitchen. Apart from a few dropped potatoes, the dinner went off without a hitch.

And if anyone noticed the tablecloths were actually sheets, they were nice enough not to say anything.

David Thomas Tao is an editor and writer living in New York City (though his native Kentucky accent still slips out from time to time). He’s also the chief research officer at Greatist.

So, a few of you guys asked me how I make my favorite asparagus lasagna, and ask and you shall receive!

When I cook, I do it by taste, so I’m not going to have exact measurements for everything, but the great thing about lasagna is that it’s an easy dish, and you’d have to try really hard to mess it up. The second greatest thing about lasagna is that you can make a lot of it and heat and eat it for dinner for the rest of the week, paired with a salad (or use it for lunches), which makes it a great “cheap eats” meal.

You’ll need:
• Three or four cloves of garlic
• One bunch of asparagus
• 12 sheets of lasagna (I use the one from Barilla)
• Grated parmesan (as much as you like, I like a lot)
• Olive oil
• Your favorite bechamel sauce
• Salt and pepper

Snap off the ends of your asparagus. Start a big pot of boiling water (big enough to boil the sheets of lasagna), and once the water is boiling, salt the water, and add the garlic cloves (smashed), and add the ends of the asparagus. Lower the heat and let it simmer for 15 minutes or so. Basically, you’re getting some of the garlic and asparagus flavor into the water. Remove the ends, and smashed garlic cloves, and boil the asparagus for five minutes or so before using some tongs to transfer them into some ice water. Ladle half a cup of the pot of water into a bowl, so you can add some of it into your béchamel sauce. Boil your sheets of lasagna in the asparagus/garlic/salt water until it’s pliable, but not fully cooked (it’s going into the oven), and while the sheets are cooking, make your béchamel sauce (I usually use Ina Garten’s béchamel, which is here, or this olive oil béchamel recipe from The Times. Chop the asparagus into bite-sized pieces.

Now, it’s just layering everything into a baking dish: three sheets of lasagna, and then spread some béchamel on top, and scatter some of the asparagus pieces and as much parmesan cheese as you want. Sometimes I’ll add chopped spinach or arugula if I want some more greens (it’s up to you! Maybe you want mushrooms—do what your heart wants). Do two more layers, and add the last sheets of lasagna on top. Drizzle olive oil on top, more parmesan cheese if you want, and sprinkle on some black pepper. Wrap the dish in foil, and bake in the oven for 25 to 30 minutes at 350 degrees. Remove from oven, divide, and eat. The photo above is what mine looks like.

This is the best for cooking for one; few ingredients, easy, cheap (so cheap!), somewhat healthy, not that much washing up. I’ll give quantities to feed one, but can just increase for however many you want.

No salt is added to the sauce because the zucchini is already salted to help bring out some of the moisture. Also, timing matters, please pay attention.

Ingredients:

• Spaghetti for one, this is subjective unless you get one of these

• 1 medium zucchini (courgette?)

• 1 and a 1/3 teaspoon salt

• 1 teaspoon butter and a splash of olive oil

• 1 garlic clove, thinly sliced (not chopped, sliced)

• a pinch of chili flakes

• ground pepper

• 1 tablespoon chopped parsley (or a mix of parsley and mint if you have it)
• 1 tablespoon crumbled feta cheese

Directions:

Fill your biggest pot with lots of water and put it over high heat on the stove with one teaspoon of salt in the water.

Grate the zucchini then lightly salt it. Leave for 5 minutes.

Slice half a clove of garlic into fine slices. Chop parsley and mint. Squeeze excess water from the zucchini with your hands over a bowl or sink. Just squeeze it like Play Doh, don’t worry about getting all the water out.

Once the pasta water is on a rolling boil (has been boiling for more than a few seconds, the water is moving energetically around the pot), put the spaghetti in. Give the spaghetti a quick stir to stop it from sticking.

When spaghetti has cooked for 5 minutes, put the teaspoon of butter and the oil in a fry pan with the garlic over low heat. Cook for 20 seconds, don’t let the garlic brown.

Turn heat up to medium-high and add the zucchini. Fry the zucchini for 1 minute, it shouldn’t brown, in fact, it will continue to look raw. It will actually be juicy and sweet and so great. Turn the heat off, add chili flakes, pepper, crumbled feta, herbs and two teaspoons of the water from the pasta.

Drain the pasta once it is al dente, mix it into the zucchini in the pan.

Eat in bed while watching YouTube videos of David Mitchell talking about food.

Have a cheap an easy recipe you want to share? Send it on over. See more recipes here.

Cat McInnis is a food blogger and a recently-employed publishing assistant-type-person in Melbourne, Australia.

Billfold pal and prolific world traveler Jodi Ettenberg has been working on a book about discovering and learning how to make delicious cheap food from different countries she’s visited, and she wants to share her findings with you. Looks like we’ll have more cheap eats to share with you guys when her book launches this fall!

Summer means heat, and heat means cravings for cool, light, refreshing meals. When I get home from work on a hot July day, the last thing I want to do is heat up my A/C-less apartment by turning on the oven or standing over the stove. Behold the wonder of Lentil Quinoa Salad. The fresh herbs and lemon give it a light, refreshing taste, and the quinoa and lentils make it filling enough to create a whole meal out of it. (Not gonna lie—the last three nights, I’ve just grabbed a fork and eaten this stuff straight out of its container in the fridge.) Bonus: It’s super cheap, and the recipe makes enough to feed an army.

Here’s what you need…
• 1 cup quinoa
• 1 cup green or brown lentils
• 2 lemons, zested*
• 1/2 cup lemon juice
• 1/2 cup olive oil
• 1 tsp paprika
• 2-3 cloves garlic, minced (or 1 tsp garlic powder)
• salt and pepper to taste
• 1/4-1/2 cup basil, chopped
• 1/4-1/2 cup parsley, chopped*
• 4 big or 6 small green onions, minced (white parts only)*
*These are the ingredients I had to buy, for a grand total of $2.97.

Other ingredient costs: The basil came off a plant I bought at the grocery store for $2.99, which was the same price as a pre-cut bunch. Now I can have fresh basil whenever I want! Lentils are $0.99 per pound, and 1 cup is a little less than 1/2 a bag. And honestly, my 4-pound bag of quinoa has been with me forever, so I have no idea how much I spent on it. But based on Amazon and Google Shopping prices, it looks like quinoa is about $4.00-5.00 per pound, less if you buy it from the bulk bins. It’s more expensive than, say, rice, but oh-so-delicious and versatile and healthy. And did I mention it lasts forever? Buy it in bulk and store it in an airtight container someplace dark and cool. You can thank me later. Like the lentils, 1 cup is a little less than half a pound.

So, all told, the main ingredients come to less than $7.00, plus the oil, garlic, and spices, which you probably have lying around. Like I said, this recipe makes a lot, so you can easily feed a large group or have it as a meal or side dish for several days.

To assemble, rinse the quinoa in a mesh strainer and then combine it in a small pot with 2 cups of water. Bring to a boil over medium heat, then reduce to low heat and simmer for 15-20 minutes. Combine the lentils in a small or medium pot with enough water to cover the lentils by at least an inch. You can also use vegetable broth for a little extra flavor. Bring lentils to a boil over medium heat, then reduce to low heat and simmer for 30-40 minutes.

While those are cooking, assemble the dressing: lemon zest, lemon juice, olive oil, paprika, garlic, and salt and pepper. For the lemon juice, I like to squeeze the lemons—after zesting—into a 1 cup liquid measuring cup (two lemons usually yields between 1/4 and 1/3 cup of juice), pick out the seeds with a fork, and then top it off with that lemon juice that comes in a lemon-shaped-and-colored bottle from the produce section. Then add the rest of the ingredients to the measuring cup and stir it up with a fork. Set aside.

You can either chop the herbs and green onions now or wait ‘til you get home. You won’t add them until the salad has cooled. Chop ‘em up nicely and stick them in the fridge covered in plastic wrap while the salad cools.

When the lentils and quinoa have finished cooking, combine them in a large bowl and stir them together. If you’re like me, you will slop some over the side of the bowl no matter how carefully you stir. Just shrug and eat it anyway, assuming your counters are (relatively) clean. Give the dressing a quick stir, since the lemon juice and oil will have separated, and then pour it over the lentils and quinoa. Mix to coat evenly. Cover in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 60-90 minutes to cool. Add the herbs and onions, mix, and enjoy!

This is one of those dishes that’s better a day or two later, when the flavors have had time to mingle. This is a great potluck dish (especially since it’s vegan and gluten free), but make sure you save some for yourself to eat tomorrow. It’s also delicious on crackers! Oh, and if you really must have a hot meal, grate some cheddar cheese over the top of the leftovers and nuke it!

Have a cheap eats recipe to share? Send it in!

Linda Stewart eats, dances, and works in the Bay Area. After finding that YouTube clip, she spent the next 45 minutes watching Looney Toons clips with a dopey grin on her face.

Hand Mustard Make sure nobody’s looking. Squeeze mustard onto the back of your hand. Lick it.

Veggie Dog in a Piece of Wheat Bread Folded to Resemble a Hot Dog Bun
Dress it up with your roommate’s spicy habanero ketchup to taste. Great for breakfast on the go!

Half a Tortilla and Hummus
Smear the hummus around with the back of a spoon and then lick the spoon. Only using half the tortilla will make you feel like you’re saving money, even when you eat the other half five minutes later.

—You can’t really argue with the economy or simplicity of these classic meals. HAND MUSTARD. More options for meals to eat while standing over your kitchen sink here and here. (And here.)

Here at The Billfold, we love cheap and easy recipes. Here’s one for ratatouille by Dan Nosowitz.

I’m giving away a bit of a trade secret here, and probably going to have at least one awkward conversation sometime in the future with a girl who over-Googles me and stumbles upon this, but: This is a great date recipe (or any-time recipe), and I am a good guy, so I am going to share it. I have literally made out with plural girls (more than one! Less than three, full disclosure) after cooking this dish.

So this is a baked-egg ratatouille. It’s flexible, cheap, easy and healthy, and it accomplishes the goal of looking real professional in a rustic sort of way while actually being way less trouble to compose on a plate than a regular dish.

It’s best made in the summer, when farmers markets and friends’ gardens are overflowing with summer squash, and, like I said, it is best made for someone you intend to make out with. It’s a perfect date dish: filling but not heavy, impressive, but cheap and easy to make, and summery, communal, and casual—there’s a lot of reaching and sharing and helping and breaking of ice.

It also pairs well with wine and beer, which you should be drinking, because it’s summer and you’re about to make out with someone. Step one is to please drink wine or beer or whiskey throughout the entire cooking process.

Ingredients:
Note: There are no measurements here, because mostly I tend to cook with what I have, rather than shopping for two cups of diced eggplant or whatever. That’s weird! Just add however much you like, and adjust it until it tastes right. Love garlic? Add a ton of garlic. Hate zucchini? Use some other squash. This is a very flexible recipe! I tend to do around a 3:3:2 ratio of eggplant to summer squash to tomato, if that helps.

- eggplant (any type; I like to go for weirder ones, like the little round Thai ones or the racist all-white ones, because why not?)
- summer squash, like zucchini, or thin-necked yellow squash, or spherical light green squash, or anything else the farmers market marks as summer squash
- tomatoes (you can go cheapish here—we’re going to be cooking them down a lot, so heirlooms would be kind of a waste. On the other hand, this is also one of the very few instances where canned tomatoes will not really work)
- garlic
- some kind of onion (shallots and red onions are my favorites. Leeks would also work)
- eggs (since you’re already at the farmers’ market, with your canvas tote and bike helmet and attitude in hand, grab some nice eggs! They taste better and are probably more ethical, or something)
- cheese (hard cheeses are best here. Parmesan, pecorino, asiago—something salty and not too rich)
- sprig or two of thyme
- one or two bay leaves
- olive oil/salt/pepper, duh
- other flavorings if you want! I am usually all about adding every possible spice and herb that seems like it wouldn’t be gross, but this recipe I think is best kept simple. Still, here are some possible additions: oregano, parsley, red pepper flakes, sriracha, smoked paprika, a little bit of pesto of any sort (I have snootily tried it with parsley-walnut pesto and found it delicious), or even a mild curry powder would be tasty. If you demand meat, diced sausage works well, as long as you don’t have like a crazy smoky oily one—I have used Goya’s tiny chorizos, which are tasty and cost about $2.50 for four, to good effect.
- good bread. Sourdough is best, because sourdough is always best, but pretty much any bread, pita, naan, or other flatbread would work. Tortillas work okay but are kind of weird, like you’re making a Provençal taco.

Equipment:
- a good knife, because you deserve to have a good knife
- cutting board
- serrated knife to avoid tomato-smushing
- EITHER: a medium-sized cast-iron pan (preferable) or any pan + a smallish deep-walled metal baking vessel (still fine, really). Size is important—you want it to just fit all of your vegetables, coming up maybe halfway to the top of the rim of the pan, edge to edge.

Prep:
Cut your eggplant and summer squash into small cubes. Like, a centimeter square or thereabouts. Make them however big you want, I’m not the boss of you! Dice your tomato with your serrated knife. Marvel at how much easier it is to cut tomatoes with a serrated knife, then also remember that bread and tomatoes are the only items that should be cut with a serrated knife. Chop your garlic, dice your onion. (Yes. Chop the garlic. Do not mince it real tiny. Like, each clove should yield maybe eight to twelve pieces.) Put these items in bowls. This will make your actual cooking process really easy! Note: I have never done this in my life. You can just chop the summer squash, garlic, onion, and tomatoes while the eggplant cooks.

Get your pan on the stove. Turn on the stove to just below medium. Put some oil in it.

Here’s the thing about eggplant that people mostly don’t know, unless they are completely untrained amateur cooks who watch way too much Top Chef: You have to cook the shit out of it. The texture of the eggplant should be buttery smooth in the middle, not spongy or firm at all. This takes FOREVER. But it’s worth it! So throw the eggplant in the pan first. Make sure the pan’s hot before you do–the eggplant should sizzle when you throw it in. After a couple minutes, turn the heat down to medium-low.

Eggplant will soak up lots of oil on its long, strange journey to being delicious. You’ll have to add some more to the pan to keep it from getting too dry and sticking. Toss the eggplant sparingly—don’t stand in front of the stove and bat it around every twelve seconds like a kitten with a pair of expensive earbuds. Have some god damn patience. It’s going to take like a half hour, minimum, plus the more you smack it with your spatula, the more it’s going to fall apart.

When the eggplant is toasty on the outside and buttery on the inside, remove it from the pan. (Some people, Julia Child among them, say ratatouille should be made with each individual vegetable cooked separately. I don’t do that because 1) I am not a segregationist and 2) it takes fucking forever that way.) Go ahead and toss in the garlic and onion. (You chopped the garlic because garlic is not any mere flavoring, no! Chopping it a little bigger means it won’t burn or get lost in the stew.) When the onions are mostly translucent, throw in the squash. Turn the heat up a bit and let that stuff get a little browned, then throw in the tomatoes, thyme, bay leaves, and other spices, if you insisted on using other spices, and turn the heat back down to medium-low. Let all that cook down for, like, awhile. You want the squash to still have some texture, so don’t cook it too long. When the vegetables are cooked to your preferred level of doneness, remove the thyme and bay leaves and throw the eggplant back in. Mix it all up, and season with salt and pepper. If it’s looking a little soupy, not to worry–that just means you had some real juicy tomatoes or some watery-ass zucchini or something. Drain off the excess liquid–you can throw that in another pan, reduce it a bit, and then pour it back over the ratatouille.

Turn off the heat, and then turn on your broiler. I know! When do you ever get to use the broiler! If you’re using a cast-iron pan, skip the rest of this paragraph. If you’re using a nonstick pan, first of all, nonstick is just fine, I am not a snob, but you should probably acquire a cast-iron pan. Also, take your ratatouille and dump it all into your baking vessel.

Take a spoon or a ladle or spatula or your own heat-resistant fist and make a few little hollows in the ratatouille. These should be well-spaced—there should be a good few inches between hollows. I usually have two or three eggs in an eight-inch pan. The hollows should not go all the way through the ratatouille to show the bottom of the pan–there should be a thin layer of ratatouille on the bottom. Crack your eggs carefully into these hollows, one per, making sure not to break the yolk. DO NOT BREAK THE YOLK. THE YOLK IS EVERYTHING. Then grate your cheese liberally over the top, though don’t grate it right on the yolk itself. You want there to be a pretty fair cheese-crust on this thing, because up until now it’s just been vegetables and you don’t want your Person of Romantic Interest to think that’s all you eat. Not like a pizza-level amount of cheese, but, you know, a buncha cheese.

Make sure the broiler’s all up to heat, then slide your pan/baking vessel under it. This is the hardest part of this whole dish: You need it to be in there long enough for the cheese to brown and the egg whites to set, but not so long that the egg yolks cook at all. Check it, like, once a minute. It shouldn’t take longer than three or four minutes under the broiler. If you see the top of the egg yolk start to cook, it might mean your ratatouille is too high and thus too close to the burner. If you see that, remove it immediately, turn the oven down to about 400, and stick the pan in the oven until done.

To test, stab your knife into the egg whites and move the top of the whites (which will cook in seconds) aside to peek at what’s underneath. If it’s a lot of clear liquid, stick it back in. If it’s kind of pudding-y wet-looking mostly opaque white with maybe a tiny bit of clear liquid, it’s done. If it’s hard and fully opaque and white, you fucked up. The eggs are going to continue to cook even when out of the broiler because they are nestled in a delicious hot pan of produce, so you’re basically looking for slightly undercooked when you slide it out.

Take your pan or baking vessel and stick it on some kind of nice-looking, heat-proof plate or sheet or towel or a bunch of oven mitts in a pinch. Deposit it in the middle of the table. Take your loaf of bread or flatbread and put it on a cutting board. Slice half of the loaf of bread, if you’re using bread, and carry the cutting board/bread/knife to the table as well. Give you and your very lucky Person of Romantic Interest a small plate and a fork. Tell your Person of Romantic Interest that you understand that they want to make out right now, but that the eggs are still cooking and it is important to eat this while it’s still at peak tastiness. Take your fork and break all of the yolks. If you’ve done this right, the yolks should ooze out delicious saucy yolk. Mix that all up. Eat with bread.

Final step: Take your Person of Romantic Interest to Makouttown.

Got a recipe you’d like to share? Email us.

Dan Nosowitz lives in Brooklyn and writes words for money, mostly at Popular Science. He has serious opinions about fruit, and previously wrote about his apartment in Montreal.

Here at The Billfold, we love cheap and easy recipes. Here’s a cheap and easy recipe for dessert by reader Cindy Whitt.

Eating on the cheap can be easy when you’re only feeding yourself, but what do you do when you’re invited to a BBQ or potluck? You bring a peanut butter pie. For less than $10, you can serve 8-10 this easy, creamy, peanut buttery dessert. I have never heard one complaint about this pie, even from people who do not particularly like peanut butter. Plus, it’s so easy even a novice cook can whip it up.

To save money, you can buy the generic/store brand versions of everything except the peanut butter. Splurge on a fancy, obscurely-named confection or go with my favorite, Peter Pan. You’ll only use about half the container, so you’ll have enough left for a couple of PB&J sandwiches later.

Ingredients
• 1 cup peanut butter
• 1 cup powdered sugar
• 8 oz. package cream cheese
• 8 oz. tub of whipped topping
• 1 teaspoon vanilla (optional)
• Chocolate pie crust (found on baking aisle, not the frozen kind)
• Package of peanut butter cups, chopped, and chocolate syrup for decoration (optional)

Directions
With a hand mixer, beat the cream cheese, peanut butter, and vanilla until combined. Add powdered sugar 1/2 a cup at a time.  Blend until smooth. Fold in whipped topping by hand until smooth and creamy.

Open pie crust package, saving the clear top to use as your cover. Pour pie mixture into crust, smooth out the top. Sprinkle with chopped peanut butter cups and drizzle chocolate syrup across the top. (To do this, squirt some syrup in a small glass, dip a fork into it and use it to drizzle across the top of the pie. Squirting from the container may result in blobs.)

Top it with that plastic cover you saved, and refrigerate for at least two hours before serving. Cut into small slices – it’s rich enough that a sliver will do. Your friends will be impressed, and you can say that you did it without the help of Mrs. Smith.

Everyone is always saying, “Learn to cook!” (I have said, “Learn to cook!”) But how to start? Here are a few hot tips that helped me:

1. Start drilling it into your head that every time you see a cafe or restaurant or fast food joint, that those places are forbidden. Mantra: “You will not go there and give them your money for things you can do yourself.”

2.Think about what you ate as a kid. Your parents are great resources, either for what to do or what not to do. Google the type of dish you’ve got a craving for and the word “easy”. (This sounds stupidly simple, but I think a lot of people just don’t know where to start.) Soon enough, you’ll find a few go-to sites. Mine are Inn at the Crossroads, Broke Ass Gourmet, All Recipes, and Mark Bittman. 

3. Make sure what you’re planning on making is within your scope of experience. Do not try to make something complicated or with multiple steps if you’re just starting out (“cornish game hens with pancetta, juniper berries, and beets”). Keep it short and easy and you’ll be less frustrated and more likely to keep trying new things.  Mexican and Italian dishes are good to start. It doesn’t take a master chef to brown some beef in a pan or boil some water.

4. If you’re scared you don’t have the time, chill. You probably have the time. (Shut your laptop, maybe.) Even if you can’t spare a whole lot, any kind of sandwich, tacos, fajitas, spaghetti, or salad take under 30 minutes from start to finish. Take short cuts when you need to, like buying pre-cut or frozen vegetables, pre made sauces, sliced or shredded cheeses, or seasoning packets.

5. Keep a realistic shopping list. If that bag of spinach keeps going bad, you’re not a spinach eater. Stop buying it.

6. Include treats on your shopping list—special fruit, crackers, chips and salsa, fancy yogurt, stinky cheeses,  cookies. Whatever it is, buying it in bulk at a grocery store is a lot cheaper than buying it impulsively at a cafe.

7. Clean up while you cook. A sink full of dishes is daunting. Avoid it.

8. Start small: Make your coffee at home. There are so many simple ways to do this. You can buy a cheap coffee maker, use a pour over filter, get a French press—you can even just use instant coffee if you’re not picky on flavor.  Acup of coffee is about $2. You do that five days a week that’s $520 a year which is about the same as the cost of one cross country plane ticket. Just sayin’.