How to Dine Alone
Eating by yourself in a city full of people
I tell the host it’s “just me.” A qualifier I hope makes me seem unfussy, an easy guest, easily stowed in a corner of the restaurant at a less palatable table with little elbow room. I sit, ankles crossed, elbows rested on the table’s edge, fingers interlaced. I try not to immediately pull out my phone. Instead, I rummage in my chocolate brown bag for my book. Right now, it’s Gabrielle Hamilton. Last month, it was Ruth Reichl. It’s often food-related and makes me feel like I’m the guy at the performative reading picnic, pulling out my chef memoir at a restaurant where I dine alone.
I look at the tables next to me, the people seated behind me, the empty chair across from me. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I ignore it. Sometimes, I’m eavesdropping on neighboring guests or trying to focus hard enough on the music playing over the speakers to discern who might be in control of the playlist that night. It’s a game of constant observation, and the prize is something surprisingly restorative.
I sit at the table and smile at my waiter. I make conversation, though it’s mostly small talk. More often, I sit at the bar and make it my mission to giggle with the bartender. They’re sitting in the seat across from me—except they’re not eating, they have to stand, and they’re simultaneously sitting across from twelve other people.
I look at the menu and look again. I come up with seven iterations of dish combinations that won’t be exorbitantly expensive or an egregious amount of food. I do the math a few times. I ask a few more questions than usual, mildly scared that enough food will come to feed a small village, but the village is just me.
The same way people feel lonely in New York, even when surrounded by a flurry of people, is, I imagine, the same feeling that prevents others from wanting to dine alone—from being in their own company while everyone around them is in the company of someone else. The magic of New York, to me, is how it’s allowed me to be completely on my own in a crowd of dozens, to know no one’s paying attention to me, and to be able to observe and exist entirely solo. It is nice to be in the company of others without needing to say a word.
I must’ve been 17 the first time I went to a restaurant and sat at a table by myself. It was in the town I grew up in, at a restaurant I used to work at. I ate pizza, looked around for an hour, and departed. From then, I was hooked. No one asked anything of me, no coordination was required. While dining out has since become my primary social function, the ability to go out, comfortably, on my own has led to some of my favorite meals in New York and one of my favorite tools to reset after a weird day. A perfect bar stool, a friendly bartender, and nowhere to be.
To enjoy it the way I do, here’s how to dine alone and where to do it.
How:
Bring a book—one you will actually want to read.
Keep the headphones in your bag! Resist the urge to tune out the surrounding sounds. UNLESS an insufferable table is right next to you, then turn the noise-cancellation on.
Order more than one thing—it feels lavish, but it is so nice to stretch a meal out with more than one course.
Make friends with your waiter, duh.
Most importantly, find a dining room or a bar where you are comfortable and happy to loiter for a while.
There are two kinds of places where eating alone feels doable:
Somewhere with a relatively light menu where more than one menu item wouldn’t kill me—crudos, salads, small plates, etc.
A one-track restaurant where there isn’t much choice/more than one category of food available
From top left: Kingston Carriage House, The Henson, ESTRO
Where:
My favorite places right now where I would go any day, any time, and ask for a table for one—mostly inspired by my last few visits upstate where I was lounging in hotels and seeking out tables at restaurants I’ve had saved for ages.
Matilda
Fabián von Hauske Valtierra and Jeremiah Stone of New York’s beloved Wildair and Contra have expanded upstate, settling into a beautiful candlelit dining room at The Henson. Matilda is magic, and an early mid-week dinner during a rainy week left a lot of empty seats. Wine in hand, I passed through their garden before finding my table right next sliding glass doors overlooking a supremely green backyard flush with flower beds. I pulled my book out and ate the most delicious, perfectly dressed plate of greens with lovage, a soft cow’s cheese, and a cashew vinaigrette. A restaurant’s green salad says it all, and I will die on that hill. I followed with a piece of trout covered in a clam and potato foam, with a green garlic puree and fried capers on top. It was salty and refreshing and rich all at the same time—balanced and springy and a perfectly cooked piece of fish. I passed through a couple chapters of my books, finished my glass of wine, and admired the room around me before being so kindly sent their signature sundae with a changing scoop of homemade ice cream served in a majestic silver coupe. I would sit in this dining room any day.
Uotora
I have plenty of casual sushi spots nearby, but Uotora scratches a different itch. In a near-silent dining room that dims as the sun goes down, I watch chefs behind the sushi counter masterfully plate omakase courses, nigiri, unagi don. The fish is fresh, the menu is small, and every bite on the menu is presented with such care. A solo sushi dinner is the ultimate meditative meal.
Don Udon
The eel app and udon. Duh.
Casa Susanna
A masa dish and a plate of vegetables could be the perfect dinner, and the Casa Susanna tlacoyo with stinging nettle rocked my world. I look forward to returning for the hospitality alone, a spicy mezcal cocktail, and as much masa as I can fit into one meal.
Place des Fêtes
A magical bar seat and the best balance of light bites with a bowl of pasta if you need. The mussels, a salad or a bowl of fresh pasta will do the trick. Yes, you need a dessert just for you.
OKONOMI
One of the best lunches I’ve had in New York. Not cheap, and perfect for a solo diner. Meant for eating in silence (IMO).
Yellow Rose
Perhaps controversial, but one of my most reliable stops in the East Village. The tacos are great, the desserts are amazing, and the little gem salad with cashew ranch dressing, crunchy veg, and hominy is addicting. Sitting at the window seat and watching the happenings of 3rd Ave is a great way to turn your brain off for a second.
Rucola
Feels like somewhere you can hide mid-day for a little reset. The dark wood tables get drenched in sunlight and the menu is approachable, though I’m dedicated to the escarole salad. You’re so unlikely to be bothered, and guaranteed a good meal on a quiet Brooklyn corner.
Let me know where you’ve been dining alone lately…and I’ll be sending a dispatch next week from Paris. Xo
i love solo dining! done it a few times at yellow rose as well, but also had a particularly nice experience at smithereens
On a rainy Wednesday night, green salad and roast chicken at the far right end of the bar at Sailor