He wouldn't. He'd walk around the corner and have some Pot au Feu or Beef Bourgogne at a cafe.
If he absoutely was confined to his flat by a case of agoraphobia coupled with insomnia, he'd eat chickpeas from a can, opened with a rusty can opener and heated over a hot plate in a worn enamelwear windsor pot. Then he'd muster up the courage, (Or is it simply a level of self-defeat?) to go ride his bicycle around the Jardin de Luxemborg until he was exhausted enough to fall asleep.
I'm not a big fan of chickpeas. I need air in the tires of my bicycle.