Somehow I have never minded dining alone. Instead, I find it is a rare opportunity for relaxing and collecting my senses, and I have always made each occasion something of a ceremony.
~ James Beard
It has been a while since I sat at a table for one in an upscale restaurant. A few days ago, in Tucson, I had dinner at the bar at Vivace and at Fleming’s. But a bar stool in a cozy, intimate bar is a whole other experience from a table for one in a roomful of couples and families.
Who is looking at me? What are they thinking? What shall I do with my hands? My feet? How should I compose my face? Where should I point my eyes?
First and foremost, no one is looking at you. No one cares what you’re doing with your hands or feet or face or eyes. No one cares if you’re alone or with a friend or with ten other people.
Or with a dog.
A woman in Memphis said it best on my 2019 road trip. She walked by my table ahead of her male companion and glanced at Annie lying on her mat under the table. She gave me a conspiratorial smile. “The perfect dining companion,” she drawled. Her companion gave me a woeful smile as he followed her out the door.
Granted, I would prefer to have someone to share dinner with. But I’ve usually traveled alone, and dining alone is part of that. And it can be quite nice. Last night I sat by myself at Coasterra, a Mexican restaurant at the east end Harbor Island.
Who needs a companion when you can gaze at a view like this?
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