Table For One

A reflection on dining solo. Ground rules for sometimes awkward, always cherished conversations with myself.

I love to dine! Absolutely. Love. It.

There’s something about sitting in a restaurant that allows me to reset. Now, I do love company and conversation. But I often request a table for one.

For years, I was a road warrior. Except it was less about the battle and more about a quest. A woman in search of self.

Legal work took me all over the country, and there were many stretches of my career that I was on an airplane nearly every week. It was sheer joy to me, to walk into the airport at 6 a.m. on a Monday morning, ready to take on the week. I’m weird like that.

Standing in the security line isn’t a chore, it just adds to the anticipation…. I’m going somewhere! Happy dance. Sometimes a little tap dance, right there in line, to whatever is blasting in my headphones. (This journey started long before airpods, my friends!) 

I lived out of a suitcase, happily chatting with flight attendants and bellmen along the way, collecting their stories along with frequent flyer miles and hotel points. Travel weary and content, I’d fly home already restless for the next trip.

Any good road warrior learns how to dine at a bar. 

Room service gets old, fast. And where’s the fun in that? So, you perch on a stool and ask for the menu, praying for something remotely healthy. You learn how to shift your energy from “hi stranger, I’m open to a friendly chat” to “don’t even try to talk to me, it’s been a long day and I just need french fries and a glass of Cab.” So much for healthy, I know. Anyway, perhaps the art of bar-dining is a topic for another day, yes?

Often, though, I would bypass the bar and request a table for one. 

“Hi, it’s just me tonight,” I’d say with a smile. “Would you like to sit at the bar?” the hostess would ask. Sometimes with efficiency. Sometimes with annoyance. Sometimes with pity. Sometimes with interest. Huge shout out to The Kind And The Curious.

“No, actually, I’d prefer a table tonight. May I sit by the window?” Through the restaurant we’d walk, to a small table with a starched linen tablecloth, a small lit candle, perhaps a bud vase with a single yellow flower. The hostess would remove the second set of flatware and stemware, the second crisp napkin.  And I’d sit alone in a crowded room.

Over the years, I perfected the art of dining alone. Of reconnecting with myself at the end of the day. Of sharing a culinary experience with just me, myself, and I. 

It’s awkward, at first, dining with yourself. But you might just find that you enjoy your own company. You are lovely, after all!

Here’s the process that evolved over years of solo travel – first, for business, then for the sheer joy of exploring the world. These are the rules I laid out for myself. 

Step One: If at all possible, pick a place that requires a 10 to 15 minute walk from the hotel. Take in the neighborhood. Window shop. Stay curious. Stay aware of your surroundings too, please.

Step Two: Smile at the hostess. Make eye contact. Ask for the table. Yes, it’s just me tonight. No thank you, I’m not feeling the bar vibes tonight, I’d really love a table. Are you sure? Yes, quite. Allow the twinkle to remain in your eyes, maybe even wink when you say that.

Step Three: Sit down. Sit up straight. Take a deep breath. Let your eyes sweep around the room. Take it all in. Feel the energy of the conversations buzzing around you. How lucky are you? Truly, breathe in a moment of gratitude. Ash, how lucky are you?!

Step Four: Study the menu. What excites you? Look for the veggies. Wait seriously, where are the veggies? 

Then zoom out. Contemplate this beyond the entrees. Menus are, themselves, a creative expression. Is the menu crowded, cluttered? Or simple, elegant? Does it include a story about the restaurant’s history? Or a quote from the chef? Is it contained in a heavy leather folio? Or is it a simple piece of paper? It’s laminated … oh well. What can you learn about the place, just from this? How does the menu affect your experience?

Step Five: Smile at the waiter. Say thanks for having me, I’m so happy to be here. Recognize the self-talk going on in his head, that one person means a smaller order and thus a smaller tip. Be nice enough that it helps them move past that concern (and of course, you’re going to take care of them in the end). Exchange pleasantries but recognize how busy he might be. If he’s not crazy busy, ask how his day is going. And mean it. 

Study the waiter’s energy. But don’t take his energy. Remember, he is not here to keep you company. You are here to keep yourself company.

Place your order. And girl please, include something green.

Step Six: Here’s where the fun really begins! And the challenge.

Resist the urge to check your phone. No really, Ash, put it away. 

Also, leave the book, or the work papers, or the laptop, or the tablet – all of it! - in your bag. Just. Sit.

Aw man, that’s hard to do! Yes, yes it is. At first. 

What started as a mental game became my meditation. 

And I go back to my mental notes-to-self on how to dine alone. The conversation in my head has evolved over the years, and it generally goes like this.

Check in on yourself, just as you would a dinner companion. How are you, Ash? No really, how are you? Then listen – actually listen – to the answer. No agenda. Just be present.

Check your breathing. Are you short of breath because you’re anxious? If so, why? Are you breathing deeply, inhaling the smells coming from the kitchen? Are you sighing with relief, or is it frustration, after a long day?

Not ready to unpack the day, just yet? That’s OK. It can wait.

Oh wait! The wine just arrived. Swirl the wine in the glass. Breathe in slowly. Take a sip. What do you think? Does it remind you of somewhere else, some other time? Sit with that memory for a moment.

Wait, no! Don’t reach for the phone. Girl! Don’t do it. Do. Not. Do. It. Resist the urge. 

Ask, why’d you reach? Are you bored already? Are you worried about something that a message on the phone can actually resolve? It can wait an hour. I promise. Drop the phone. 

Plus, have you noticed? A woman sitting alone at a table with a glass of wine, constantly checking her phone – well, people assume you’ve been stood up! That’s not the vibe we’re giving here, honey.

You are alone, but you aren’t lonely. 

Dining is a sensory experience. Scan the room. What do you see? 

Notice the art, the dècor, the lighting. Is the seating velvety-plush? Or worn and wooden? Do you find it inviting? Or does something make you uncomfortable? Why? Always why.

Who do you see? If I’m not quite ready for my own company, I’ll scan the room, looking for stories. Making up stories. Observing. 

Maybe that group in the corner is loud, boisterous, having the time of their lives together. Or maybe they’re just pretending to do so. Which is it? Look for truth. 

Maybe that couple is on their phones because they’re bored with one another. Or maybe they’re fighting. Or perhaps they’re just swamped at work - literally swamped - but trying to carve out a few moments together, supporting one another in the triage. Which is it?

Maybe that foursome is on a double date. Or maybe they work together, it’s strictly platonic, and they truly enjoy one another’s company. Perhaps they don’t actually enjoy one another’s company and would really rather be at home on the sofa. Look closer, what do you learn?

Maybe that older gentleman is dating a much younger woman. Insert raised eyebrow. Pause. Or maybe it’s her Dad, her Uncle, her Friend, her Mentor. 

Don’t judge it. Do discern it.

Learning to read people will give you an advantage in the conference room at tomorrow’s meeting, I promise. 

And while we’re on the subject of business, study the restaurant business. What do you see about the operations, the management, the teamwork, the systems and structures? What would you change? What is working that you could implement with your own team? 

Make a mental note. But … oh you almost did it! I’m proud of you, girl, because you managed to not pull out your phone. 

Listen. What do you hear?

Oh goodness, do I have to fight the urge to get pulled into the conversations held near me. I could lose myself in others’ worlds. Because I love stories - those shared, and those imagined.

But I will dabble. I’ll listen in for a moment, checking in. I made some visual assumptions. Will they play out audibly? Was I on point? What can I learn?

Often, I learn not to make assumptions. 

Touch. What do you feel? Does that feeling evoke a memory?

I feel the heavy linen napkin on my lap. It feels comforting.

I feel the heat from the single lit tea light. The warmth reminds me of the sun on the beach. I wish I could hold the tiny candle, its flame would feel like rays on my face. But I am in a restaurant. That might be weird.

I feel the soft petals of that yellow flower. For some reason, it reminds me of how much I love snuggles with my dog. And I smile.

I like to run my fingers over the cool metal flatware. It reminds me of putting away the mismatched forks and spoons and knives in the rickety drawer in my grandmother’s kitchen.

Ah, look! Here’s dinner.

Smell. Taste. I mean, obviously! But maybe it’s not so obvious.

How often do we inhale our meal so quickly we don’t even remember what we ate? In a hurry, we rush through dinner so we can get back to work, back to the laptop. Or back to the laundry. Or back to countless other tasks waiting for us. Guilty!

So I like to pause. Take a breath. Ah, it smells heavenly! But I stop myself from diving right in. I want to appreciate all the aromas. Also, look at how beautifully it’s plated.

Now, take a bite. Close your eyes as you savor the dish. Divine! Congratulate yourself. Ash, you chose well. 

Reminder to self: Eat slowly. Yes, there’s work waiting for you tonight at the hotel, but the work is always there. For now, just be here. You’ll do better work later if you enjoy this moment now. 

Permission to self: You can think about the work, if you need to. Sift through the events of the day. What went well? What went off the rails? What did you learn? Consider what needs to happen tomorrow. How do you want to show up? Who can you help? How can you improve? What needs to change?

No dessert, thank you. Just the check. This was lovely!

Step Seven: Pay. Tip well, recognizing you took a table for two. Honor the process. Respect that this is his livelihood.

Place the napkin on the table and gather your things. Look around once more, take it all in. Be grateful, so grateful, that you were able to have this experience when so many cannot. This was indeed a gift.

Hey Ash, are you ready for the best part? You’ve built in a brisk, after-dinner walk. What did they once call it? An evening constitutional, that’s it. Off you go!

And that’s how I learned to simply sit with myself. 

It’s not always easy, to listen to myself. Sometimes I don’t like what she has to say. But myself needs to be given a voice. To be heard. Nurtured. Understood. Loved. As with any relationship, the relationship with myself requires attention, focused effort, honesty, compassion, care.

My wish in sharing this is that maybe dining solo will become a cherished event for you, too. An adventure. A meditation. A ritual. A gift.

Myself hopes you enjoy yourself. 

And if you see me dining alone, just know that I’m happily sitting with the voice in my head, and I’ve come to enjoy her company quite a lot. I’ll raise a glass and send a smile your way as you take your own table for one. Cheers to you, and cheers to me!

If you already thought I was not quite right in the head, well now you can be certain of that fact, haha! If you’d like to receive weekly confirmation that I’m a little bit nuts, please subscribe. If you think other nuts in your life might relate, please share these ramblings with them.

Love you, mean it. I’ll talk with you next week. XO