To Live and Dine Alone
My life in a lot of ways plays out like an ongoing game of truth or dare. I have a tendency to push myself to do things, just to see if I have the guts. It’s a weird tick I can’t seem to shake, despite the fact that my natural inclination is to be as immobile and introverted as possible. So on Friday, February 1, at 7pm, I found myself dressed to the nines and being led to my table by the maître d’ at the Michelin-starred restaurant Providence. People stared. I felt sweaty and regretted my choice of four-inch heels. When I got to my table, there was one chair. Right. Party of one. Dare.
I’ve dined alone plenty of times but I’ve always had accessories to keep vulnerability at bay. A book, a mobile phone, a general inconspicuous vibe. This time, I made myself as visible as possible with an outfit that looked like I was ready for the spring formal and I had no entertainment or distraction in tow.
The market menu with wine pairing consisted of three amuse-bouches, six dishes, one cheese plate, two desserts and lots of wine with fancy names that I forgot as soon as they were uttered. Finally, after the main fish dish came and went, the couple celebrating the husband’s birthday at the table over asked me why I was so dressed up but dining alone. I told them I wanted to see if I had the balls. They nodded their approval and that was that. Back to my solitary gastronomic adventure. The whole thing took about three hours to consume. One look at my face and my condition at the end of the feast is pretty obvious.
In the end, I discovered that the outing wasn’t as scary or intimidating as I thought it was going to be (thank you, wine), my stomach isn’t nearly as big as my eyes and I mutter to myself when left alone with nothing but food for three hours. Also, I definitely have an aldehyde dehydrogenase 2 deficiency.