Recently, I’ve taken to eating out for dinner 4-5 nights of the week. Approximately two out of every five evenings, I’ve started dining alone.
At first, this was anxiety-provoking. I felt I was playing Miranda in a Sex and the City episode, when the first few times, the hostess would ask, “Is it just you?” And, grinning through my teeth, I’d annoyingly say, “Yup. Juuuust me.” To the person dining, it feels like all eyes are on you, every couple or group thinking, “How pathetic. That girl just screams single.” Or, “What? Is she looking for someone to join her? That’s lame.”
I’ve finally become more comfortable with this, although, a lot of it has to do with finding the right restaurant to accommodate solo diners. Thus far, I find that the least awkward places to eat have been Epistrophy in Nolita, Le Pain Quotidien (Gramercy location), Union Square Coffee Shop (although not at busy hours), and the bar at Bread.
Last night was the first time I found myself dining alone outside, and the experience was, in a word, horrifying. After sweating it out at the gym, I headed down Irving, and decided to eat outside at Choshi Sushi.
There I was, in spandex and hulking running shoes, hair glued to my head from sweat, trying to enjoy my cheap glass of pinot grigio, but couldn’t because, every few minutes, cat calls from passing guys:
“Hey lady! Where’s your boyfriend?”
“Why are you eating alone, gorgeous?”
“Can I eat your sushi?”
Maybe I was asking for it by eating at a sushi restaurant. But at the same time, really? I hate, hate, hate it when skeezy men say stuff to women like this on the street. What do they expect for me to say in response to “Looking hotttt!” Do they expect me to stop and chat them up? I think not.
Check, please.
