newyorkette

(Image: carolita johnson)

The other day, a self-assured, infinitely likable, well-traveled person confided in me that the thing he hates about dining out alone is that “They treat you like a leper, and they always give you a dark table where you can’t even read a book!”

I was immediately intrigued by his use of the word “leper,” which I realized I’ve rarely heard employed outside attempts to describe the experience of dining out alone! Upon reflection, and after trying to imagine anyone treating this eminently respectable person like a leper (try as I might, to no avail), I am quite convinced that the only person making the lone diner feel like a leper is… the lone diner! It has simply never happened to me anywhere, nor have I ever seen anyone regard a lone patron as a leper when I worked in restaurants myself. Perhaps you think I simply never perceived the obvious pity in so many maitre d’s, and you blush to think of my obliviousness to shame? I’ve never wanted to say “pshaw” before, but here I really must emit a hearty, “Pshaw!”

Fifteen years of living in various kitchenless rooms in Paris with nothing but a “Camping Gaz” burner and one small pot to cook my meals in, and a bathtub with a plank of wood over it for a table—forced me to overcome my initial embarrassment and become an inveterate, well-received, lone diner. I will therefore share my expertise with you.

Besides arriving with just the right amount self-confidence (not too much, but not too little) and a smile (rather than an apologetic plea for mercy on your face), another key to being treated accomodatingly, if not lavished with positive attention, is to keep going back. If you’re on the road and this isn’t likely to happen, be pleasant and project the image of a person who’ll leave a nice, 20% tip: keep in mind that one person occupying a table will invariably result in a lower tip spread over two seats than a couple would yield.

It may add to your comfort level to be aware that most hostesses or maitre d’s do not object to the custom most lone diners observe of not dallying overly long at their tables. Restaurant staff will also usually give preference to regulars—lone or not—over strangers, even when the place is crowded and fully booked. I’ve been a hostess, and I know the importance of regulars to a restaurant’s survival. We were admonished at the Café Costes (where I worked illegally for a summer) never to turn a regular away.

As for the dreaded dark table, it’s likely all the well-lit tables have already been reserved, or perhaps all the tables are rather badly lit. If you want to read, opt for bright establishments, or favor sushi bars, Japanese noodle bars, and diner counters. That said, I’ve been given extra candles upon pulling my book out at my favorite, rather dimly lit Tibetan restaurant without even having to ask.

What will people think? Whether people imagine you’re a sad sack whom nobody wants to dine with, or assume you’re simply treating yourself to a tranquil dinner temporarily relieved of your usual adoring retinue comes down to one thing: the expression on your face. Indeed, I’m sure I’ve caught socially encumbered diners coveting my solitude.

Finally, the whole point of going to a restaurant is to be served. You’re meant to enjoy it the way you’d enjoy a massage or a hard-earned vacation. I’ve noticed we Americans seem to have a proclivity for feeling guilty when served. Not so me, ever since I understood this: you are paying for this privilege! You’re contributing to the economy! As long as you are a gracious patron, you have nothing to feel guilty about, except for not enjoying it enough!

Bon appetit!

Posted Monday, November 6th, 2006 at 6:00 am under tables for one: when you vant to/must eat alone. Feel free to trackback from your own site. All images on newyorkette.com are the intellectual property of Carolita Johnson, and you must ask (and receive) express permission to use them or reproduce them in any way whatsoever.