Dining alone in public is not,
by and large, an activity in which people choose to indulge. The
reasons why are clear enough. Eating is regarded as a social
activity. Mealtimes are for being convivial, making
conversation--not things that are possible on your own. On
finding yourself without company of an evening, therefore,
convention dictates that you do the decent thing and not foist
your solitude upon others. A TV dinner may not be the most
uplifting of experiences, but at least it won't cause anyone
else to feel uncomfortable.
So much for
what should be done. The truth is that there are occasions when
even Mr Popular finds himself a) short of company, b) somewhere
other than home and c) hungry. When this happens, it would be
strange to the point of pathetic for him to deny the promptings
of his stomach merely to avoid the indignity of having a bunch
of strangers witness his solitude. Besides, taking the
going-home route would cause him to miss the opportunity to
discover just what a rewarding experience solitary dining can
be. In order to make a success of eating by yourself, however,
it is important to bear in mind that you cannot do it just
anywhere.
The best venues for eating alone are low-key,
nondescript places that, if you were in a group, you would
almost certainly pass by without a second glance. Neighbourhood
cafes, dingy-looking exotic eateries, the ramshackle stalls
adjacent to bus and railway stations--these are the ideal
settings for meals-for-one. It is true that the food will not
always be top-notch, but at least no one besides you will have
to bear this disappointment. In any case, by braving the risk of
failure, you may once in a while stumble across a genuine treat.
A few years ago, when I was living in Finsbury Park, north
London, I discovered a small, family-run Cypriot cafe. It was
really no more than a kebab shop, but it served a range of
simple and (I thought) delicious dishes: grilled sweetbreads,
lamb kebabs, chicken stews. I quite often went there after a day
working at home. No matter what time it was, I would always
encounter a group of Cypriots, drinking and talking. They were
invariably friendly, and would sometimes tell me about their
lives.
Once I made the mistake of bringing a friend.
Having excitedly told him beforehand about this great new place
I had discovered, it was a blow, when we arrived, to see him
look so unimpressed. What for me was an enchanting neighbourhood
restaurant was, for him, just another kebab shop. Sharing my
discovery made it impossible for me to go on seeing the cafe as
I had done before. I was forced to adopt the more general,
accommodating view. These days, I am a bit more careful, and
generally keep such places to myself. |