On Eating Alone

It was in New York, a city of over eight million people, that I learned to dine alone.

Initially I dined with others, meeting at their suggested restaurant and suffering through an abominable meal simply to reap the relief of a smaller check. Being in my early twenties, I quickly found that my acquaintances were none too keen on spending money on food when it did nothing but deplete funds and widen waistlines. I was forced to sideline the gastronomically disinclined in favor of those who fully enjoyed savoring a wedge of Garrotxa. This of course, left me with very few dining partners and, thusly, I became my best companion.

I admit, initially the task of eating out alone was discomforting. I often opted for take-out but balancing a Styrofoam box on my knees while I slouched on my IKEA futon quickly grew old. So I slowly eased myself into the solo restaurant scene.

I started with a sushi bar. The skillful movements of the chefs eliminated the need for a book and pseudo-dining companions flanking both sides hid all evidence of my solidarity. This worked for a while until the chef took a liking to me (or perhaps grew bored himself) and started an unreciprocated staring contest. The awkward attention gave me new confidence that dining alone at a real table might not be such a bad thing.

I removed the training wheels and began again with a French-Moroccan restaurant. Sitting al fresco with a glass of wine and a chicken tangine, I realized that dining out alone was actually a treat to myself. I was aloud to eat wherever I desired, as slowly as I pleased and not be peeved by the disgusted look of my partner while questioning slowly, “What is that?” upon ordering the sweet breads. Dining alone became less about limitation and more about freedom.

This hurdle is not uncommon. I’ve heard numerous friends bereave their inability to dine out alone…or do anything alone for that matter. Perhaps the general ease at which I became accustomed to solo dining can be attributed to my being an only child. More used to the sound of my own thoughts than the chatter of people, maybe my solitude may be less solitary than others.

It seems that my philosophy of going it alone sides with that of famed gastronome, M.F.K. Fisher. In “An Alphabet for Gourmets,” Fisher writes, “A is for dining alone…and so am I, if a choice must be made between most people I know and myself. This misanthropic attitude is one I am not proud of, but it is firmly there, based on my increasing conviction that sharing food with another human being is an intimate act, which should not be indulged in lightly.”

Further into the same article, Fisher gives sage advice that has helped me move onto the next phase of independent eating: dining home alone. She suggests, “‘Never be daunted in public,’ was an early Hemingway phrase which had more than once bolstered me in my Timid Twenties. I changed it now: ‘Never be daunted in private.’”

I’ve found that dining alone at home often finds me committing the sin of sloth. Not having anyone to impress and not wanting to make a mess of the kitchen just for myself, I usually resort to a miserly bowl of cereal. During the “meal”, or soon after, I become guilty of abusing my quality time alone. All the effort put toward dining alone in restaurants simply wasn’t transferring to dining alone at home.

The chef in me was growing embarrassed as well. How dare I make a living feeding others while simultaneously neglecting to feed myself? Again, heeding Ms. Fisher, “I came to believe that since nobody else dared feed me as I wished to be fed, I must do it myself, and with as much aplomb as I could muster.”

I’ve now collected a select few meals that are simple to prepare and easy to enjoy. With little more than an added glass of wine and a piece of chocolate, I’ve brought myself back to the land of the civilized. My meals for one are now as thoroughly enjoyed at home as they are in a restaurant.

Mom’s Caesar Salad

An omelet with a side of fruit, or a plate of cheese, meat and olives are now my go-to meals of choice when cooking for myself. But the classic solo meal in my family is my Mom’s Caesar salad. She makes hers in an enormous, antique, wooden bread-kneading bowl and no matter how hard I try, I can’t make it taste the same served from anything else.

1 large head Romaine, washed and chopped

1 clove garlic

1 whole egg

½ c lemon juice

2/3 c olive oil

3 dashes Worcestershire

Dash of hot sauce or cayenne

½ can of anchovies

Salt and pepper

1 c Parmesan, grated

In a food processor, chop the garlic. Add the egg and blend until smooth. Slowly pour in the lemon juice and olive oil. Add in the rest of the ingredients and adjust the seasonings in the dressing to your liking. Toss the dressing and the Parmesan with the Romaine to combine.