Eating alone is a tough one for me. I should modify that: eating alone at a restaurant is tough for me. I don’t know why. I eat at home alone all the time.
In MFK Fisher’s excellent Alphabet for Gourmets, the letter A stands for alone, and her account of one solitary feast makes the wisdom and pleasure of doing this seem obvious. In college, I had a friend who would retreat to a restaurant for the entire day. After breakfast, she’d read, people watch, and generally luxuriate until she felt hungry for lunch. Then she ate again. At the time, I felt jealous, and amazed that she could contentedly keep her own company that long, without feeling gawked at or evaluated by those around her.
Today, for what was I think the first time, I ate at a restaurant by myself. It was lunch, at my favorite taqueria, La Lupe. I didn’t need to open the menu; I knew just what I wanted. One queso taco, fresh cheese griddled brown on one side and stuffed in a homemade tortilla with onions, guacamole, and cilantro, and one carnitas taco, roasted pork, pulled into tender shreds punctuated by little crisp bites of crackling.
When I paid my check, I asked the waiter how the fiery salsa there is made. He said it is simple blanched tomatoes and jalapenos pureed in a blender, but I’m pretty sure that some onion and cilantro plays a role, too. “The jalapenos just arrived this morning from Mexico. They are especially good,” he said. “Extra hot!” That’s just how I like it.
My meal was less than $6 but I felt like a million bucks when I left, confidence boosted by doing something that has in the past seemed so scary. Tacos this fresh and delicious would give any food lover a little buzz.
