Alone, Not Lonely
Oct 04, 2019 • Connie Matisse
Alone, Not Lonely
A cupcake in the bathtub. Delivery pizza on the couch. A warm meal at the bar of a neighborhood standby with a crossword for company. A Sunday spent alone at the grocery store, taking your time in every aisle, with a whole afternoon to prepare and enjoy—with no pressure to please anyone but yourself—a three-course meal inspired by a childhood vacation.
There’s a lot of conversation buzzing around Disconnection in the Digital Age. Screens as walls between ourselves and those around us. Our cultural inability to form intimate, reciprocal human relationships. You know what I’m talking about. The antidote that most offer is—more connection! Dinner parties! Breaking bread with friends and strangers!
East Fork loves an over-the-top meal and an overflowing table. But today we want to extend an invitation to pull up a seat at a table set for one.
A cupcake in the bathtub. Delivery pizza on the couch. A warm meal at the bar of a neighborhood standby with a crossword for company. A Sunday spent alone at the grocery store, taking your time in every aisle, with a whole afternoon to prepare and enjoy—with no pressure to please anyone but yourself—a three-course meal inspired by a childhood vacation.
Our culture's growing obsession with health and wellness is so often body and class shaming dressed up in a gown of moral righteousness. It can all be so hard to navigate. Eating alone is a great time to work on unlearning the harmful stories that our classist, image-obsessed, society has been whispering in our ears and jamming down our throats all our lives. It's a great time to practice saying things like:
"I'm eating this cake alone because it tastes so damn delicious and I just wanna savor it" instead of "I'm eating this cake alone because I'm bad and can't help myself."
or
"I'm eating this big, raw salad alone because it's delicious and nourishing for my body" instead of "I'm eating this salad on my Instagram feed so that people will know that I'm good and disciplined and virtuous."
An image of someone eating alone can shout: Shame! Depression! Isolation! But flip the narrative and eating alone can provide us with the opportunity for a connection with our own, personal, corporal humanity in a way that eating in the company of others can't.
I'm on my phone all day every single day for work and, of course, I can feel how it disconnects me from those around me. But more than anything, it's disconnected me from myself. It's stripped away my comfortable, easy relationship with solitude I've spent a lifetime developing. Eating alone used to be my church—truly, the time I felt most connected to the whole damn universe. I still enjoy it, but lately when I'm eating alone—whether in a restaurant while travelling for work or at home, before the kids wake up—I find myself aimlessly scrolling through Instagram, hardly aware of the food in front me and my own experience of it. Anyone else feel that? And since I've developed this habit and stopped paying attention to my senses while I eat, I've noticed that this negative self-talk I thought I'd gotten rid of for good back in my early 20s has started to weasel its way back into my sub-conscious. I'm ready to reconnect.
In the comment section below, tell us about a time when you enjoyed a meal or a snack in your own company. A time when you were really, truly present with your own taste buds, desire, pleasure, humanity.
“When I was writing my thesis in college, I would go get sushi by myself at the end of a long week. I'd blast my sinuses with Wasabi to clear some stress. All the sushi chefs and staff knew me and when they found out I studied Japanese, they started giving me a couple free pieces of fish every time I went in.” - Julia True
"My favorite thing to eat when I'm all alone is oxtail. I can make it, but it's way better when my grandma or mom does. I like to share food, but not when I'm eating oxtail. That's all mine." - JaQuan LaPierre
“Seriously, while it is more fun sharing a meal with the one you love, New Haven style Pizza can be great with a group or all by yourself!” - Scott Haight
“I once trekked across London to eat banana pancakes at a specific breakfast spot. I was the only person in the restaurant eating alone, but I didn’t mind: what better way to enjoy your own company than with a delicious meal?” - Virginia Knight
“In the late afternoon half way through my trip [to Paris] I ordered a Croque Monsuier (white sauce cheese and ham--a glorified fried bologna sandwich) wrapped to go after a long night and perhaps a few too many Kronenbourgs. Plucking it out of my tote (still warm!) on the steps outside of le Petit Palais was a fabulous reminder to take comfort in solitude.” - Sara Melosh
“There’s nothing better than eating a big bowl of cereal in absolute peace and quiet or when watching YouTube. It's perfect quick snack fix, second only to PB&J.” — Jerome Williams
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Read MoreI was in New Orleans for work. It was my first time there, my first time traveling alone, and before I had a smart phone. All I knew about New Orleans was Bourbon Street and street cars. I decided to take one of the street cars to the end of its line and along the way I saw a packed restaurant. I decided then to treat myself to dinner and as a party of one, I got right in. I sat at the chef’s counter overlooking the kitchen at Cochon, my first time dining alone and my first time at a seat overlooking a kitchen. I took all of their recommendations on what to order and the chef sent me a couple of extra things to try. It was unforgettable. I don’t think that would have happened quite in that way if I was dining with someone else.
What a warming message—and the unspoken text is the pleasure of selecting a special plate or cup for that solo meal. This reminded me of discovering the essay by MFK Fisher, “A is for dining Alone” (The Art of Eating, 1976, pp. 577-83), just when I had moved to a new city, started a new job, and didn’t know many people to share meals with. Her words gave me the courage to walk into a likely local restaurant, take a seat by myself, and order a delicious meal with a glass of wine. And no book! Just myself engaging with the food.
The stage is set.
My 8 month old twins are napping upstairs in their cribs. For 30 min? Two hours? 10 seconds? Who’s to say? I plate 2 very runny yolks in lightly set whites on overtoasted buttered toast. East Fork side plate in eggshell, of course. I set the plate on our kitchen island that’s not really a kitchen island but it’s high enough for me to rest my elbows on and stare blankly into the next room. I look down at my plate – no fork. A fork would be at least 5 steps away. 10 if you count there AND back. I say “fuck it”, pick up the first fried egg (sans toast), lift it high, and burst the yolk in my mouth. Same with the second egg. Another standing breakfast for 1 tired new mom, but it’s fucking delicious and the plating was 💯.
A friend shared your blog with me and it was this first thing I read as I was sitting down to work….with a big bowl of salad at my side. My boyfriend went to England for a week, so I’m dining solo. It took 1/2 hour to prepare — it’s not just any salad. This one has roasted carrots, sauteed crispy mushrooms, steamed corn, toasted almonds, lemon-marinated fennel, some fetal, and a base of butter lettuce and kale. I make my own dressing and I eat it out of a large glass bowl. I poured myself a small glass of red wine too, to further elevate the experience. What I love about dining by computer is that I eat slower.
My partner works nights, so I end up eating alone quite often. I never mind it, but it ends up usually being a quick meal of whatever I can scrounge.
One Friday, after work, I decided to make my favorite pasta dish (carbonara with a heavy addition of mushrooms) and just stay in for the night. I turned “Moonstruck” on the TV, ate the pasta out of the giant metal bowl I mixed it in, and drank wine without any judgement of how much of the bottle I got through. I wasn’t eating because I was sad or lonely. I was just enjoying one of my favorite movies (Nick Cage and Cher at their prime BTW) with some of the best damn carbonara I’d ever made. It was lovely, and I still dream of the day I can have a kitchen that rivals Rose Castorini’s where I can make that pasta for myself again and again.
For three New Years in a row I had to be in New Orleans (bummer!) but I didn’t have any family around. I inadvertently started a New Years Eve tradition of getting too many sushi rolls and a big ol daiquiri and watching Breaking Bad all night with my pup. Since then my New Years have been more eventful and my little guy has passed, but those were still the best solo meals.
I spent a week visiting a friend in Seattle last year. On the weekdays, she had to go to work so I spent my days wandering around the city alone (a beautiful place to do that). I’ve eaten a lot of meals alone in my life (and have enjoyed most of them) but none has been quite as lovely as the late lunch I had at a French restaurant adjacent to Pike Place. I sat at a table on the sidewalk, ordered a latte, quiche, and brioche buns. The food was delicious and rich, the service was pleasant and knew exactly how frequently to visit, and the breeze blew gently, creating an incredible dapple of light on my table from the trees above. I watched people stroll up and down the relatively quite street while I made my way through the spinach and goat cheese quiche, so decadent I never thought I would finish but never wanted to stop eating.
I felt that beautiful, magical feeling of being both alone and a part of a whole all at once.
I plan an annual solo trip each year. I decided to visit Seattle and one of the best things/meals I’ve ever had was at an Italian restaurant called Spinasse. The signature tajarin pasta with butter and sage was a life-altering dish. I sat at the bar next to an older woman who ordered the same dish and she insisted the bartender serve us a glass of white wine that paired perfectly with the dish. We sat there and shared stories and laughed for hours. There was something about the wine, cheese, pasta, and sisterhood we shared that night that I will never forget. Not to mention, when she discovered I was visiting from NYC by myself and that it was the eve of my 26th birthday, she offered to cover my meal and paid for us both. Certainly a birthday eve I haven’t forgotten and I dish I still drool about to this very day.
I travel a lot for my side hustle job. All over the US and occasionally to a few other countries. I get the pleasure of eating alone while I’m traveling. To be in a new place, trying new restaurants, seeing new sights always refreshes and stirs my passion anew.
I remember once in Chicago, finding an out of the way, hole in the wall Italian place. I went in and was seated at the white linen table and began to peruse the menu. The waiter came to take my drink order and I ordered a very nice glass of wine, which obviously surprised him (I don’t necessarily fit most people’s picture of a wine connoisseur). I enjoyed sitting at my table, sipping a delicious glass of wine, watching them prepare my food, as well as watching all the people hurrying by the windows outside. It was a nice pause in a busy day, and I was obligated to no one to come up with conversation points or engage in any way. I needed to disconnect and refresh, and eating alone provided me that opportunity.
When I was in college in Maine, at least twice a year I would take a greyhound bus trip to NC and back to visit my family. These were 24 hour+ trips, and there was always a middle of the night layover at the Port Authority. At the time, there was a twenty-four-hour pizza-by-the-slice place across the street, and I came to truly, intensely look forward to and enjoy that 3 am solitary meal of a slice and a snapple.
Cooking has been the sweetest reprieve for me. After a few traumatic experiences when I was 19, I dove into cooking as a subconscious way of healing myself. I wanted— nay, needed— to feel again. And I needed to feel deeply. I needed to find comfort, sovereignty, relief in my body. I needed complete and utter deliciousness and nothing less. Cooking and food was that outlet for me.
I spent a lot of time driving and hiking along the Blue Ridge Parkway in the following years. One day, I drove to Calloway Peak. I was 20 at the time. My hiking bag was full of farmers market peaches and gorgeous buttercrunch lettuce, a fresh loaf of sourdough bread, a granny smith apple, and raw goat cheese from the farm I was working at. It was the middle of the week in the summer, but I had the trail to myself. I got to the top and my mouth dropped at the surrounding beauty. Valleys of trees and peaks of granite crescendoing into gorgeous waves and waves in the sea of mountains in front of me.
I sat down and pulled out the food from my bag and gingerly made myself a sandwich. I artfully swirled the goat cheese on the slices of bread (yes, I cut the bread with a swiss army knife I’d brought along), slowly cut the granny smith apples into slices, and put them onto the sandwich with the lettuce for the sandwich. I took as long as I could to enjoy the preparation and simple power of a good sandwich. It was so fresh— I took long, hearty, pleasurable chews. I don’t think it’s ever taken me that long to eat a sandwich.
I finished my hiking lunch, taking big gulps of water as I stared out at the sky. As I sat on that mountain top in silence, with nothing but the wind blowing around me, I started to cry. Uncontrollably. I’m usually not one for crying but big, heavy drops just kept coming. A huge smile took over my face through the tears. Something deep inside of me shifted. Clicked into place. This stranger who’d been myself was starting to form into someone else that felt more clear, more real, more me than the voided version I’d been carrying around. A simple sandwich after an afternoon hike brought me out of the murky void I’d been sludging through. I powerfully felt in my bones the strength to nurture and nourish myself, to tend to myself the way I tended to the plants on the farm— softly, sensitively, and with nothing but heartful intention and prayers to grow beauty out of dirt.
I began the trek back down the mountain, feeling fullness and resilience and joy for the first time in a year. I stopped at a waterfall and swimming hole on the way back. I pulled out the peaches, took a big ol’ bite, then another and another, letting the juices freely flow down my face and hands. I skinny dipped in the cool mountain water, hearing the slight roar of the waterfall as I held my breath underwater. More tears, more smiles, more joy joy joy as I floated on my back in the little swimming hole, the taste of sweet summer peaches still in my mouth.
A sandwich on top of a mountain and peaches near a waterfall marked a turning point in my life. It’s easy to overlook the small things, but this day helped me realize that the simplest pleasures— things like the breeze, a good piece of bread, ripe summer fruit— are true gifts and cause for celebration. My body and spirit felt renewed, safe, almost overflowing. I felt deliciousness and nothing less that day.
I have always had some weird aversion to paying for salads out, internally telling myself that if I’m going out to dinner I want to spend my money on something I can’t just make at home. Folks, I do not make life changing salads at home, and so I don’t eat enough salad. A month ago I took myself out for a lunch date to the Waterbird to sit alone at the bar, in the middle of the day, drink water, and eat an incredible kale caesar salad. I smiled my way through the entire salad, thinking “I’ve made it!” Luxury can feel so different for all of us. While I would never hesitate to order a dozen fresh oysters for myself, my recent salad moment was a really big deal.
My first marriage ended very abruptly and at a fairly young age, I was 31. I suddenly found myself living alone in a tiny apartment and paralyzed by the fear of judgement from my family and friends that I wasn’t capable of being “marriage material”. I wasn’t eating well, because I hadn’t figured out to eat alone. One night, after spending the entire day trying to put years of marriage and stuff into this tiny apartment, I decided to make Risotto. I ate it in my bathtub that night, and I swear that Risotto tasted better than any I had ever had. I stopped worrying about the optics of that divorce that night. Probably in part due to what a big bowl of carbs can do for the soul.
I was traveling alone in Barcelona as a young 20-something. I wasn’t about to skip a wine and tapas bar experience in Spain, even if I was alone. I scouted out a friendly-looking yet intimate spot. I squeezed myself between 2 couples at the bar and ordered in my much-less-than-perfect Spanish. Even though I was alone, the small size of the restaurant and the friendliness of the staff made me feel like I was dining with a group of close friends.
When I was 17 I had the privilege of going to Italy with my art history class. We went to a museum and I wasn’t ready to leave when the group left, so I told them I’d meet up with them later. I had mostly learned my way around the area, and I found a little sidewalk cafe where I had a coffee and lunch while I drew strangers in my sketchbook. I couldn’t believe I was allowed to be alone, so I relished every moment of my solitude. Drinking coffee alone while covertly drawing strangers in public remains one of my favorite activities to this day.
While my husband had meetingsin Nashville, I decided to take myself to the Loveless Cafe. Seated at a table for one, the waitress asked, “You need some biscuits, Hon?” I did! She delivered and said, “I’ll just leave you to that. “ Biscuits and peach jam-alone, not lonely…!
When I was 25, I became a divorcee. I had to make A LOT of adjustments to being alone, and meals alone was a big one. I worked in a restaurant, so I ate there most of the time (even when I wasn’t on shift, truth be told, because I didn’t want to cook for myself but also because most of my non-work “meals” consisted of nilla wafers dipped in soy milk). But I can vividly remember one night where I walked from my tiny, recently-moved-into 1 bedroom apartment to a restaurant I liked down the street and sat by the open front windows. I was new to drinking alcohol, so I asked the waiter to surprise me with a cocktail bc I was such a noob, and ordered my usual grilled cheese and frites with garlic aioli (SOOOO GOOD there) and the waiter brought me an apple martini. Which honestly I hated haha! But I remember that deep feeling of satisfaction of sitting there, reading a book, truly enjoying my own company and my food, feeling confident in myself and excited about my future.
I drove 37 miles to Baltimore to eat handmade, completely fresh, gluten free pizza cooked in a pizza oven. I sat at the bar in a neighborhood pizza place completely absorbed in that sensory perfection of the pizza. It was a brief moment of heaven on earth that I refer to in my thoughts when I need a reminder of the fulfillment of simple pleasure.
I spent last summer in Mexico City with my husband and daughter but was working during our time there. One day I was alone, working at a coffee shop, when I made the spontaneous decision to treat myself to a “business lunch” at Contramar. I had tuna tostadas, a mezcal margarita, and coconut flan. Every bite was so good I literally had tears in my eyes by the end (or maybe it was the coconut flan!). Being alone I was able to lose myself in every bite and fully soak up the ambiance. It stands as one of the very best dining experiences I’ve ever had.
I can wear myself out. Or down, more accurately. When I started my first “big girl” job after college, I put a lot of pressure on myself as if one misstep could derail my whole career (thank god my 20s are over). My cure for a rough day or long week was going to a local deli I had found, sitting at the counter and ordering a huge sandwich. My go-to became roast beef with Brie, a bag of kettle chips and a Dr. Browns diet cream soda. I could house that in about 15 minutes and check off meditating for the day in one fell swoop.
I love this piece. I’m recently divorced (and a really young divorcee at that), and I’ve spent a lot of time reframing literally everything (?). Very honestly the best part of my new “alone, not lonely” lifestyle is getting to eat/do/talk about things with only my pleasure in mind. I don’t have to worry about seeing the latest artsy film and my partner not enjoying it and then spending an hour and a half in the dark hoping that they won’t have thought it was a waste of time.
All of that said. My favorite thing to do, by myself, is to get a happy hour cocktail at the ramen place nearby my apartment after work on Fridays. I sit at the bar, where the bartender knows I am ok without being engaged with, with my kindle and just enjoy the drink and superfluous reading. It feels independent and bold and says to the world, “I am ok.” I mean, maybe that isn’t everyone’s idea of ok – alone at a bar – but for me it is. I also enjoy getting to order takeout from wherever I want and eating it in beautiful pottery :)
I love you all, never change! Thanks for this post!
When I was a graduate student, Sunday was the only free day I had. I loved going to my favorite brunch place and eating their delicious stuffed ricotta French toast. My companion was a book. It was lovely and calming. I still eat by myself when I want some quiet time.
I was 22 and had my very first business trip to Cincinnati where, at the time, they had a restaurant called the Maisonette which was the longest running 5 star restaurant in the country. I lived on yogurt all week just so I could afford one amazing dinner there, by myself. The wait staff was complicated and I had no idea how you were supposed to tip everyone. So, I asked where there was a phone (pre cell phones) in order to call my dad for help on the matter. To my utter embarrassment, they brought a phone to my table and, in my lowest volume whisper I made my call. In case you are wondering, just leave a 20% tip and the wait staff will divide it up appropriately.
Reading this while eating breakfast alone at my beloved neighborhood restaurant in Brooklyn. Eating alone is one of life’s simplest, yet grandest, pleasures. Cheers.
When I lived in New York, I would take a book and sit by myself at an institution of a bistro that somehow found itself in the middle of a rapidly growing trendy “scene-y” neighborhood. I would sit at the bar and order French fries, a Caesar salad, and a cup of coffee, and enjoy my solitude.
The best thing about this place was that no matter how busy it got, the servers never rushed me and would keep filling up my coffee cup, sometimes with a wink to let me know I was okay to keep reading and sipping. The bistro has been gone now for a couple years, but I have so many fond memories of the kindness of the staff, who always let me dawdle the afternoon away by myself.