breaking bread alone

There must come a time in an aging single girl’s life when she questions if she is, in fact, better off alone rather then settling. I know I’ve pondered this many a times and have always drawn the same conclusion. While there are times when the pleasure of a friend’s company is certainly enjoyed and even welcomed, when push comes to shove, I am my own favorite date.

On the afternoon of my 46th birthday, I assumed (and turned out I assumed correctly) that I would be taking my lunch hour solo, as usual. I called up my favorite restaurant in the area, Piperade, and made a lunch reservation for one. For my celebratory meal, I feasted on a wonderful butter lettuce and fresh herb salad, delicious roasted halibut, manchego potato gratin, and ended it with a warm apple tart, all accompanied with a cold glass of white wine (which the vineyard or the vintage, unfortunately, I can not remember…I am, after all. getting old). I ate at my own pace. I was treated warmly by the waitstaff (or I could have mistaken that for empathy). I was able to eavesdrop on table conversations around me (always a plus while dining alone). I had time to reflect on my past 46 years with fondness. During that meal, there was no one I wanted to share it with but myself. Unlike many birthdays past, that particular day I will remember for the next 46 years.

That incident is also reflective on how I question and view my dating life. “Will I have a better time having a four star lobster and champagne dinner with Joe, then I would eating a TJ’s TV dinner drinking Two Buck Chuck while watching Lord of the Rings for the hundredth time?” It’s all relative, I know.

While Los Angeles and New York (in most ways) turn their noses down on solo diners (unless you’re wolfing a Tommy burger in LA or a hot dog at Gray’s Papaya in NYC), San Francisco not only is a great eating town, but a comforable town to eat alone in.

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