Dining alone is social

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Years ago, when you would dine out at Chi-Chi’s or the Olive Garden, you would wait patiently for a hostess to shout when a table was ready. There were no buzzers or text alerts, just someone mispronouncing your family’s last name at a volume just above the lobby noise. I remember waiting for a booth at Eat’n Park (the Pittsburgh homies know) and hearing “Smith, party of one” — and thinking that it didn’t sound like a party at all.

When this year’s World Happiness Report was released in March, one of the big takeaways was that Americans are dining solo too often. The U.S. has fallen to its lowest slot in the country rankings (24th), and the report explored the rise in Americans eating alone as a possible indicator. In 2023, about 1 in 4 Americans reported eating all of their meals alone the previous day, an increase of 53% since 2003.

“Sharing meals proves to be an exceptionally strong indicator of subjective wellbeing – on par with income and unemployment,” the report authors said, having seemingly never eaten with a lip-smacker or dined with someone who is rude to servers. “Those who share more meals with others report significantly higher levels of life satisfaction and positive affect, and lower levels of negative affect.”

I do think eating alone can be incredibly sad. Because I work from home, I tend to continue plowing through emails while I drop arugula on my keyboard, or I just stare at my phone when having dinner by myself if Dave works the closing shift. Although, I do get the pleasure of having a Bean Dinner when Dave’s not home, considering he has not yet learned the Pleasure. of a Great. Bean. Meal. 

But I do think having a meal or drink alone — in public — is one of life’s great treats.

Two weeks ago, with Dottie at daycare and Dave at work, I had a Friday afternoon to myself. It was a beautiful day and I figured I would get a little editing done outside of the apartment. I stopped at one cafe, but the menu didn’t appeal to me (the staff was also off-putting — but I still ordered a cafe au lait to go and tipped!! Your poor attitude cannot overcome my Catholic guilt. Sorry I bothered you even though it’s your job!). Because I was solo, I could keep hunting for my perfect treat. I picked up a library book and made my way up Lincoln Avenue, when it realized that I hadn’t spent a single afternoon this summer on my favorite rooftop. I rolled up, ordered a beer, a potato salad, and read my book under the shade of a fiberglass cow (see previous link). I left exactly when I felt like it, not having to wait for anyone to finish their drink or close their tab.

The following day, I took the dog to a neighborhood patio. I got a glass of mediocre rosé (drinkable only when it’s sunny) and a basket of fries. I continued reading my book, and Dottie watched everyone come and go on the sidewalk.

I’ve come to think of my solo dates as solitude for extroverts: I stay (mostly) quiet but get to sit among the commotion. I recharge by being around others — but that doesn’t mean I need to be an active participant in the fuss. Sometimes I’ll get to chatting with others, but that’s not the goal.

Yet not everyone is OK with this, I’ve learned. A few years ago, the internet got itself all worked up over a tweet by Jeremy Schneider, a food and culture writer for NJ.com:

There have been other folks who take issue with reading in public, sometimes claiming that these people are trying to prove something, i.e., they’re “pick me” types who portray themselves as superior to others. People who enjoy reading in public have a lot to say about these criticisms, often arguing that they’re reading to keep others from engaging with them.

We seem to be convinced that you can’t possibly do something in public without that action making a statement: You’re reading to prove how brilliant you are; you’re reading to keep people away; you’re reading because you’re a loser who doesn’t have friends. 

In casting these odd and unnecessary judgements, we may be chasing people back home to eat or drink alone. Let folks read their novel and snack on a flatbread! That person may then spot a flier for a comedy night that could bring them out into the world yet again. Or someone curious about their book could engage them for a nice, brief chat (my friend Abbie made a good friend this way). Or they could just have a nice afternoon and make this bar their regular haunt, potentially keeping their solitude at bay a few nights each week.

“Without a dining companion to entertain, I can sit with my thoughts, watch the world around me, eavesdrop on fellow diners, maybe have a conversation with the bartender if I’m seated at the bar,” wrote Alissa Wilkinson in Vox. “I start to remember that I’m not alone at all; I’m part of a community of people, and most people, believe it or not, are friendly and interesting. Eating alone, in a paradoxical way, can get me out of my own head.”

Wilkinson, a film and culture critic, does note that pecking at our phones does seem to signal a total cut off from the world around us. But sitting alone at a bar or restaurant can otherwise open you to the community around you, whether as a participant or observer. That, for me, can be a crucial form of not feeling so alone. Even if I’m not “with” someone while I’m having my meal or drink, I still feel as though I’m part of the scene.

“Living alone in New York provides a nonstop emotional dance between the splendor of solitude and the affliction of loneliness, which alternate during any given subway ride or studio-apartment dinner,” wrote Mari Andrew for My First Popsicle: An Anthology of Food and Feelings and excerpted in The Atlantic. “I suppose it has to do with another New York dance — of feeling extremely significant or extremely insignificant, depending on the weather, my mood, a recent interaction with a stranger, or how capable I feel carrying my groceries up the stairs alone.”

I never feel lonelier than when it seems everyone else has plans but me (Yes! I was a dramatic teenager!). Living in a busy city only compounds that feeling, but I’ve found the best way to counter it is by just leaving the apartment and setting up camp at a bar/cafe/restaurant. 

If we keep having opinions about anyone who dares step out into the world, we’re just going to make each other lonelier. I had a friend recently point out that hating on the so-called Performative Male was just weird: We’re going to take issue with a guy who is being “soft,” reading female authors, and carrying a reusable tote bag? Who cares if he’s doing it, at least in part, to attract a woman? Let that boy live!

Lest he stay at home and get lost on the dark web.