I hear stories about how awkward it can be to eat alone… stories of being shuffled into corners or tables back by the door to the kitchen, rude wait staff, and uncomfortable moments on loneliness in the midst of others so obviously together. And I can imagine that eating alone all the time could be hard.
Yet so many of my meals out… reviewing restaurants… require me to eat with others, and this admittedly warped perspective has allowed me to discover the gift of eating alone. Two of the best meals I’ve eaten this year have been meals alone: one in New York City on Memorial Day weekend (Eleven Madison Park) and a second tonight on the west coast in Seattle’s Le Pichet.
The food on both occasions was wonderful, and, come to think of it, French. Elegant and daring at Eleven Madison Park. Rustic and simple at Le Pichet. Not that I’ve come out of the closet as a Francophile… I haven’t.
In fact, what was most memorable about both meals wasn’t the great food at all, but the wait staff and specifically how they treated me as I dined alone. At Eleven Madison Park it was Reilly and Chris who went out of their way to describe the food and discuss the wine. Tonight it was Aaron who did both.
I got to glimpse briefly their delight and expertise as they described the possibilities represented by the menus and my interest was met with enthusiasm and a willingness to take extra time pointing out details I’d surely have missed if I’d been at the table with a party rather than alone.
In fact, in the end it didn’t feel like I was eating alone at all. They made space for me, offered real hospitality, and set a table that felt a lot like home. The food was more refined, but what in the end I’ll remember long after I’ve forgotten the flavors is their grace.
