Going to a restaurant alone is one of the bravest of social acts.
As you sit there solitary, no companion to dine with, no one to share your paté, you answer silently the questions that no one is asking, but you imagine them thinking:
No, I’m not waiting for someone.
No, I’m not a lonely loser.
No, you don’t have to feel sorry for me and bring me extra bread rolls, thank you very much.
Is it because the act of eating together is as ancient as we are, and feeding oneself without the tribe disrupts the natural order of things? Or because most people, imagining the state of being alone with their thoughts, get vaguely uncomfortable?
Ah, here comes my entrée…