Early in my career I went to Atlanta on business. I didn’t know anyone in town so I was on my own for dinner. I could have grabbed a burger but hey, the company was paying. So I treated myself to a nice dinner, or rather, I had the company treat me to a nice dinner. It was at a quaint little restaurant that served peanut soup. I’d never tasted peanut soup and had to have it.
I told the hostess, "just one," and followed her upstairs. The dining room was crowded. Ugh. I felt all eyes on me. I imagined them staring in pity. Pariah in the room! Let’s all stare at the pariah!
Of course, no one was judging. They were busy eating and talking to their companions. Or maybe they were judging. But so what? What were they saying? "She’s all by herself?" I knew that.
Why is it so hard to dine alone? It’s the mystery of the ages.
Let’s flip the tables. When I’m eating out with
friends and see solo diners I hardly give it a second thought. Maybe I wonder
if they’re in town on business. Maybe I’m glad it’s not me. But I don’t
think, "How pathetic," or, "He must have been the kid who ate paste
in kindergarten." And in short order, I stop paying any attention at all.
Funny how easy it is to walk into a bar if I know
someone’s going to join me in a sec. Yet, if I had to go in alone I’d feel that curtain of self-consciousness descend. Clearly, it’s all about my own attitude.
Some people I know are so uncomfortable eating out alone that they’ll get
room service. I find that depressing. I don’t eat in my
bedroom at home. Why should I do so when I’m away? Besides, if I’m
in a new town, I like to see and do as much as I can before heading out of Dodge.
These days I don’t have any qualms about solo dining. Okay, you caught me. I
have some qualms. But I’m much better at it than I used to be. I bring something to read so I
don’t feel antsy while waiting for my food. Often it’s too dark
inside or there’s no room on the table for a book. So I look around and daydream.
At least I get to eat wherever I want. Last week, while vacationing with friends, I really wanted to try a place called Chimayo’s, in Park City, Utah. Several people had raved about it. But a friend
nixed it because Southwestern food doesn’t appeal to her. Ah, well. Compromise time.
Now, when dining alone, I try to remember not to ask for
"just one." Couples don’t say, "just two." Families don’t say, "just five." Instead, I ask for "a table for one, please."
Oh, and I also stay away from peanut soup. It’s way too rich for me.
Photo: Ellen Perlman. "Who says eating with family is always so great?"
Boldly Go Solo 
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