I’m fascinated by people who can sit alone in public with nothing but their thoughts. No doom-scrolling, no podcast, not even a book. What’s going through the minds of these rare, precious aliens? My consumption-obsessed brain can hardly fathom it, rarely content itself unless plugged into a bit of media or nose-diving into a novel. My admiration only deepens in high-stakes settings: a buzzy wine bar on a Friday night, or a solo diner blissfully making their way through a tasting menu. What’s the secret sauce?
M.F.K. Fisher, in her infinite gastronomical wisdom, offered countless pearls on the art of breaking bread with yourself. In Serve It Forth, she recounts the story of Lucullus, the famously indulgent Roman general and legendary gourmand, who, dining alone one evening after tiring of company, finds his meal suspiciously bland. He summons his servant and dresses him down in spectacular fashion:
Lucullus frowned and summoned the major domo.
“Perhaps, perhaps,” that official agreed, with a flood of respectful salutations. “We thought there was no need to prepare a fine banquet for my lord alone—”
“It is precisely when I am alone,” the great gourmet answered, icily, “that you require to pay special attention to the dinner. At such times, you must remember, Lucullus dines with Lucullus.”
Lucullus understood something essential: dining alone could elevate the experience rather than diminish it. Centuries and oceans apart, I recently sat in solitude at Le Cornichon in Paris’s 11th arrondissement and, between pages of Elizabeth Strout’s Olive Kitteridge, fired off a callout to solo diners on my food account NOMS (@nomsdujour): ‘Solo Dining: Liberating or Terrifying?’
While feasting on afternoon sun and a tournedos Rossini, served with an insurmountable pile of fries (the only acceptable accoutrement), I watched as the responses rolled in. The data was clear: people love to dine alone. And it’s not just my DMs. According to OpenTable, solo restaurant reservations in Australia have risen by 14% since 2023, suggesting that the stigma may finally be lifting.
When travelling, I welcome the chance to sit alone with a book and overdo it on appetisers. Yet, like martinis and steamed artichokes, solo dining is something I appreciate more in theory than practice — especially in my own city at dinnertime. Working as a freelance writer means long stretches of midweek solitude, punctuated mostly by small exchanges with people who are paid to be there (i.e. my favourite barista). Much as I enjoy it, dining out is usually a break from my own company, and by the time the evenings or weekends arrive, I’m just as ravenous for conversation as I am for whatever pickled vegetable and small fish arrives on my plate. To me, dinner is inherently social: a chance to talk through the week, weigh in on flavour combinations, or, more often, let food fade happily into the background as the wine takes hold, the conversational tempo picks up, and the tangents veer deliciously off-course.
"While feasting on afternoon sun and a tournedos Rossini, served with an insurmountable pile of fries (the only acceptable accoutrement), I watched as the responses rolled in. The data was clear: people love to dine alone."
Yet solo dining has many guises. There are the intercity travellers and the newly single. There are parents who’d commit minor felonies for a moment of peace at the table. There are creatives fresh from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, undertaking an “artist date” — for them, interpreted as a cocktail and something anchovy-adjacent consumed alone at the bar. Some, like me, dip a toe in occasionally, while others are full converts, convinced solo dining is the most celestially enjoyable event on Earth.
There are the extroverts, like Jamie Rothenberg of @foodjars, who has been dining solo since her freshman year of college. “There’s something so fun about sitting at a counter in a diner with a good book,” she says. “It never feels lonely to me because I know I’m a good time. Plus, I’m extroverted so if I’m really craving human connection, I’ll just talk to the people behind the bar or chat up the people next to me.”
Then there are the self-proclaimed solo dining pros. “I love it! I do it all the time,” says Kavita Harley of @paradiso_mediterraneo. “And I feel like the service is somehow more attentive when I’m on my own.” To navigate small-plate awkwardness, she often asks servers to curate a selection for her. Her advice? Bring a book and avoid defaulting to your phone. “A little chit-chat goes a long way.”
Solo dining encourages attention to detail. “It makes me really sit with the food critically, fully absorbed in the moment and observing others,” says Jordan Kretchmer (@jordisnacks) of Gourmet Traveller. Food writer Paulina Serwathka (@paulina.serwathka) echoes this: “When I eat alone, I pay more attention to the service, to everything around me, and the whole experience starts to feel a bit like a play.” At Pujol, the acclaimed tasting-menu restaurant in Mexico City, she quietly observed how other tables ate. “Even though it had the tense atmosphere of a prestigious restaurant, it was amazing to see people ditch their cutlery and eat with their hands, just like they would at home.”
For some, eating alone is second nature. “As an only child and someone who solo travels frequently, I adore it” writes @alys__archive. “If you forego the notion of being perceived negatively because you dine alone, it’s no longer such a terrifying concept.”
“I often found myself at the dinner table alone as an only child whose parents worked overlapping shifts,” echoes @aks.pk. “Eating alone sometimes is just life. I don’t solo dine for the confidence: it’s not a bold, performative act for me. I’m nervous every time, but you get used to it and settle into it. Each time I get a bit more comfortable than the last.”
“There’s something so fun about sitting at a counter in a diner with a good book,” she says. “It never feels lonely to me because I know I’m a good time. Plus, I’m extroverted so if I’m really craving human connection, I’ll just talk to the people behind the bar or chat up the people next to me.”
Solo dining doesn’t mean advocating constant solitude. It simply acknowledges the complexity of life. “Schedules are understandably hectic and you shouldn’t wait for everything to align,” she continues. “Restaurants are meant to be revisited and enjoyed — with all kinds of company, including your own.”
This brings me back to M.F.K. Fisher, who writes in The Gastronomical Me: “If I must be alone, I refuse to be alone as if it were something weak or distasteful, like convalescence… I sat alone and ate judiciously… without ever showing anything but self-contained enjoyment, and seemed not to want better company than my own.”
Parents describe it as a relief. “As a mum, this is an absolute luxury – the only problem is I eat too quickly,” says florist Gabrielle Chevalley (@gabriellechevalley). “Love it. Best, most quiet meal,” agrees Paris-based photographer and dad, Joseph Molines (@josephmolines).
Some experiences remind us that solo dining can open unexpected doors. Like @underthetablehotsauce_, who was travelling solo for work in Florence when she accidentally wandered into a Michelin-starred restaurant. “I was embarrassed because I was alone and not dressed properly,” she says. “But they promptly sat me next to the owner’s Nonna and served me off-menu items while she told me about the history of each one. I’ll never forget it. Or the hangover I had!”
Others are just starting to make peace with the concept. “I find it both liberating and terrifying! I work so hard not to pull out my phone,” admits film producer, Hannah Roberson (@hannahroberson). “Personally, I love dining alone because I get to take my time with the food,” writes @september.kl, “and I get to decide what I actually want without other’s influence.”
For some, the confidence is modelled by others. “I’ve both served solo diners and been one,” says @kat_flwrs. “Watching diners confidently sit there, relax, read or people-watch inspired me. I realised it’s an exercise in bravery. Bring a book. Try not to be on your phone. Or best of all, just to ‘raw dog’ it and sit in the discomfort. It’s liberating.”
For freelance food writer, Dylan Munoz (@dylanmakes), it’s the antidote to constant overstimulation. “I’ve been doing this for years!” he says. “Honestly, it’s a great way to sit with yourself and be in the moment. We live in a time where communication and interaction is so accessible that I often wonder if the only time we really have for ourselves is when we sleep — even then I’m sure something or someone is disturbing your peace.”
Some cities make this solitary public act easier to pull off than others. In Paris, solo dining feels cinematic, even expected. In Tokyo, it’s built into the architecture — ramen shops with curtained booths, standing bars, and Izakayas where the choreography of preparation is half the pleasure. No one blinks if you order for just yourself. In Seoul, however, just stepping through the door can feel like a social transgression according to @tashijanemia. “I travelled to Korea last year and really struggled dining alone because I didn’t see anyone doing it,” she says. “I sat outside a restaurant for an hour trying to build the courage to go into a nice restaurant to eat. Eventually I thought to myself, No one knows me, Who cares?, but I was quite shocked at myself for being so afraid.”
“I love solo dining in new cities,” says food writer Monika Milewska (@monika_milewska), “yet I can’t bring myself to book a solo dinner in London, where I live. Same with solo drinks. I fear being perceived negatively, though I do it constantly elsewhere. What’s up with that?”
In New Zealand, solo dining is still nascent. “It isn’t really a thing here,” says @___misty, who first embraced solo dining in Europe and New York. “I’ve had some of the best conversations of my life with strangers at a bar while enjoying a solo meal in NYC — no one bats an eye there… here, staff don’t really know what to do with you, and I find I get ignored more than not – maybe because I’m a smaller bill?”
"We live in a time where communication and interaction is so accessible that I often wonder if the only time we really have for ourselves is when we sleep — even then I’m sure something or someone is disturbing your peace.”
Yet change is coming, particularly in Auckland. At Tempero, a Latin eatery on Karangahape Road, owner Tiffany Low (@iamtiffanylow) notes an increase in solo diners, from regulars to returning travellers. “We’ve had solo diners come in with a book and a few espresso martinis. So romantic. We love to see it,” Tiffany says.
Some become fixtures. Take the guest who regularly orders a 500g steak with extra rice and a Coke Zero, always dining alone. Or another guest who once left his number on a napkin, offering to invest if they ever opened in Sydney. (Months later, he returned and booked under: Sydney investor – you have my details on a napkin).
There’s Keven, who runs an Instagram account on solo dining and even spent Valentine’s Day seated at the bar. His date for the night? “My partner, Fabio,” Tiffany laughs. Another regular, Guy, once lingered so long he ended up joining the staff meal, revealing himself as a neighbour to Tiffany’s parents. “We told him that we often joke he’s secretly a billionaire dining solo nightly,” Tiffany says.
For author and podcast host Sutanya Dacres (@dinnerfor.one), solo dining in Paris was how she found herself again after her divorce. Having moved from New York to Paris for love, she faced heartbreak alone in a foreign city. “At first, I lost myself in debaucherous behaviour, red wine, and dubious men,” she says. “Then I started making small, simple dinners for myself at home as a way to show myself love, care, and affection when I needed it the most.” Those dinners became a ritual, and through them she gradually started “falling back in love with myself.” This act of self-care inspired her podcast, memoir, and supper club, Dinner for One.
“Ultimately, I want to offer a new perspective: a life that’s just as full and abundant without a romantic partner,” she says of Dinner for One. “That doesn’t mean we can’t desire a relationship, but until the right person comes along, I want people to know that they have the freedom (and right!) to live fully, to indulge in themselves, and to enjoy their own company.”
Dining out alone also became part of that same journey. “I love solo dining,” she says. “I do it quite often because it feels like taking myself out on a date. I pick a place, dress up, and treat myself.” It might be a wine bar, a bistro, or her neighbourhood café. “It allows me to explore different places and spaces on my own and, in a way, take my joy, my pleasure, and my happiness into my own hands.” Society still associates dining alone with loneliness, but Sutanya finds it “an empowering and fulfilling experience.”
With centuries-spanning collective wisdom behind me, perhaps it's time I embraced Lucullus’s luxurious philosophy: reserving a dinner slot at my favourite restaurant simply for me to dine with me.
