Cooking For One: Let's Discuss The Pleasure of Dining Solo

Kitty Coles on the pleasure of dining solo …

It all starts with a sentence some love, and some dread: “A table for one, please.”

Would you go out for lunch or dinner alone? I am currently eating alone at one of my favourite restaurants, and I feel great. I love to eat alone. I’m doing something purely for me, going where I want (I rarely need a reservation) and, best of all, ordering whatever I want.

I’m in Soho, London, and I’ve just had a half pint at The French House before sitting outside at Duck Soup. Soho is busy, and although it’s not summer, I still like to eat outside for the people watching. (Celebrity spotting is the best here). I’ve ordered myself a glass of wine and have three dishes on the way. This is key to eating alone: you must and will always order too much. The leftovers can come home with you to be enjoyed again.

It can be daunting arriving at a restaurant alone, scanning the room quickly to see what table you hope they’ll sit you at. The preference is to face the street, like me right now (in Dublin, anywhere on Drury Street or Fade Street is great for this), a booth or at the bar looking into the kitchen, but don’t be afraid to ask for the exact table you want. Taking a book is always good, but I’m not much of a reader, so writing, drawing and jotting down ideas are my go-to. I have a quick-moving, restless mind and being in the moment is a struggle for me. Meditating? Not a chance. I’ve tried and all I can think about are those invoices I need to send or, “Would roast oranges with cheese be delicious?”

But here, with a table full of new dishes to try, Steve Coogan walking past, and a notepad full of ideas, I feel content enough to not get out my phone for once. At the moment, I’m childless, self-employed and, until a few months ago, was in a long-distance relationship (now we are both living in Dublin), so being on my own a lot of the time feels normal and a luxury in itself. I’m in a phase of my life where there are no limits to how far I’d travel for something delicious to eat (price and mood dependent, of course), even if it ends up being terrible. My boyfriend, family and friends have all been dragged hours out of the way on holidays because I convince them that, “we must go to this restaurant my friend recommended”. It’s never “on our way” like I’ve promised them, but more often than not, it’s thankfully been worth it.

Eating alone is a celebration of independence, a nod to self-care, and a moment to do whatever you want.

I took my boyfriend Andrew to a restaurant on the south coast of Sicily called Ristorante da Vittorio. I’d read about it via food writer Rachel Roddy and was determined to make the trip, even if it was over an hour in the wrong direction. It turned out to be one of the best spaghetti vongoles of the trip and I’d go back in a heartbeat.

When I took a solo trip to Lanzarote this summer, I loved the limitless options of where to go. I’m more than happy to drive 45 minutes across the island for dinner and it felt freeing that there wasn’t a group of people I had to convince to come along. I can’t help but think of something my friend once said of her time as a waitress: “I’d feel sorry for people eating alone and would always wonder if they were lonely.” But I’m not lonely, far from it! I am choosing to spend this time alone to take a break from it all. But why do we think this about solo diners? Lonely and alone are two very different things. Loneliness is a sensitive subject and I’m aware I’m lucky to have a busy life to be able to enjoy these quieter moments.

Eating alone isn’t just for restaurants though. In the last 18 months, I’ve cooked for myself a lot, which has been both tough and enjoyable. Mostly, it’s been leftovers from a cookbook shoot in front of the TV or an omelette, which I love. I went through a phase in 2021 of obsessing over making the perfect French omelette, glossy on the outside and curled neatly onto the plate. Rice, the glossy omelette, greens, and chilli oil (Irish-owned White Mausu is a must) will be the most common, but on the odd occasion, I’ll sit on the floor with a stack of cookbooks to choose something a bit more special. Ignore the “serves two or four” and just scale down. Using your local butcher instead of a supermarket is great for smaller cuts and portions. A lot like dining out alone, cooking for one can be liberating – no one to judge any failures, an opportunity to try something new that only you want. It’s selfish cooking.

One day this summer, I steamed myself a whole globe artichoke with a herb vinaigrette, then sat on my balcony while listening to a podcast. I could have easily gone to a restaurant to have this, but I loved putting my feet up on a chair, scooping and eating with no embarrassment whatsoever about who was watching. So, here’s to the joy of eating alone and cooking for one. A reminder that being alone doesn’t mean being lonely. It’s a celebration of independence, a nod to self-care, and a moment to do whatever you want. @kittycoles