The Art of Dining Alone

During a recent 2-week-long stint working and living alone in the Pacific Northwest, for the first time in many years I had to both shop for groceries and prepare all of my meals. I've made my own breakfast and lunch for decades (and why not?) but have been fortunate enough to benefit from someone else's culinary expertise for most dinners ("suppers" if you're from the Midwest, as I am). And while I am certainly able to prepare many things other than oatmeal, sandwiches, and salads, doing so is not something I'm particularly motivated to do.

During my 2-weeks alone, however, I actually had to plan ahead: Breakfasts and lunches were both easy and consistent, but dinners were another matter. I tried to choose well: turkey burgers, fish, different turkey burgers, different fish. What was different about these meals, I think, was not just the food itself, but the fact that I was dining alone. Dinner is the only meal that I consume in the presence of other people; breakfast is always alone (and usually at the office), and lunches are most often taken in the dismal confines of my corporate cubicle. Dinner, however, more often than not finds me with spouse and children: an end-of-day commotion. So, without the family, I often communed with the television, which seemed to lecture me more than communicate.

This is not, though, a story of sadness. Rather, it comes to mind now because I will soon be spending a little over a week traveling alone, and during that time I'll be fairly itinerant without even a refrigerator to keep things cold or a stove to make things hot. Again, though, breakfasts and lunches will be easily managed grab-at-the-chance type of meals. Dinners will be different, and I probably will not even have a television set to keep me company. In previous journeys, as a rule I picked up a sandwich at a grocery store, then consumed it in my hotel room or in a park. During a trip to Brussels a couple years ago, I did force myself to dine at a couple of restaurants (sitting outside both times), but always had the feeling that breaking bread even with a stranger would have been nice. I have had good luck at bed and breakfasts: In London once I shared a table with 2 elderly English women who shared their experiences living during and after World War II, and in a pub in Edinburgh, Scotland, I shared a couple of beers with a drunk Swede who told great stories. On my first trip to London, I went into exactly one restaurant for dinner: a bright Italian place in which I first tasted Pinot Grigio. It had been a long day of walking, and the wine is what I remember the most.

On my upcoming trip, I will be heading into new places, and I hope to be brave enough to venture into more than one restaurant, for I've always advocated that we learn a lot about people and cultures through a couple of things: their cemeteries and their food. We'll see what I learn most from during this trip.