On Eating Out Alone, or Comments on Lena Dunham's "Table for One" Article in Vogue Magazine

I was catching up on a bit of magazine reading this evening, paging through the June Vogue and skimming Lena Dunham's essay "Table for One," partly about how she used to enjoy eating out on her own.

I've always loved going to a restaurant by myself--for elegant, four-course meals or simpler cafe fare. I did that all the time in Canada in my late teens and early twenties, and never felt anything other than my comfortable self. Waiters (always waiters) might send over a drink or a dessert, but the gesture was always gracious and never aggressive.

When I took a long weekend to the United States to look for an apartment for graduate school, I went to a somewhat uptown Thai restaurant in my soon-to-be college town. A woman at the next table told her male companion that she could never eat on her own like that. I guess she told me too.

I have never felt uncomfortable here, except on the few occasions when male diners felt like they should invite themselves over to my table. One time in Texas (I was at an academic conference) a male diner who was with his wife and a group of friends was so insistent that I join them that I ended up leaving the restaurant and canceling my order, feeling frustrated, newly vulnerable, and angry that my "No" was not accepted. (I told management on the way out; there was no way I was staying, even if they'd moved me to a table further away.)

But still, I take great pleasure in eating out on my own. In her article, Lena Dunham said that she "used to have no problem staring into the face of the hostess when [she] said, 'Just one for dinner, thank you.'"

I never say that.

When the hostess/host asks me, "Just one for dinner?" I reply, "ONE for dinner, thank you."