[As published in March/April BayBuzz magazine.]

Salesmen do it, spinsters do it and Michelin inspectors certainly do it. Let’s do it! Let’s dine alone.

Ditch the loved-ones and the hanger-ons. Leave the phone alone and ignore the book and the kindle. Just say no and mean it. 

As I sat outside Hastings Distillers sipping on the very finest negroni, the penny dropped. A lightbulb ignited and I sat back and sighed with pleasure. It was the dawning of the realisation that I was paying the negroni the respect that it deserved. 

Undistracted by a drinking buddy, I was in the negroni, the negroni was in me and we were both in the moment. Savouring the artistry of it without distraction. I wasn’t listening to someone’s work stories or trying to make a joke and get a laugh. I was just smiling with the delightful awakening to the idea that dining or drinking alone is the best way to savour and appreciate. 

Free from the chit-chat and the exchange of opinions. Unencumbered by swapping tasting notes on the food or worse still the “try this, you’ll love it” exaltation, one is left with quiet thoughts and focus. 

Of course I love going out in a group. My favourite group size is two, a particular two, but I can mingle well enough in a larger melee. 

I can babble, or small talk as it’s otherwise known, but that’s for a different sort of occasion. That’s socialising with food, wine, beer, and/or negronis, rather than savouring, rather than putting the food and drink in the spotlight. 

My epiphany on the road to Cornucopia to shop for Hans Down tortillas centred on my new understanding that the lone imbiber and/or diner gets the best experience.

Time with one’s favourite human can be a treat, presenting the opportunity to immerse oneself in the fare, in the creativity of the makers. It’s an opportunity to form one’s own opinion rather than collaborate with a dining partner to find consensus. To form an opinion without checking first to see if it’s correct. This can be a challenge in an era when one’s opinion so often comes via a smart device from a smart-arse who heard it from a wealthier smart-arse. 

The negroni spoke to me in a tone that said “Right, you’re here in my house and I’m going to share my whakapapa story with you, and you, having nothing else to listen to, will listen to my story”. What a story it was! A complex story of skill and passion. Layers of interest that I would have missed had I been telling a dad joke to a disinterested cohort. 

On the rare occasion that I dine out on my own, my mind makes a conscious connection with the food and the cook behind it. What are they offering? What do they want me, the diner, to appreciate in the dish?

My new-found realisation that dining alone, undistracted, heightens my enjoyment, has come late to me. I’ve spent forty years going out in groups, sometimes struggling in social situations, sometimes relishing being the bell-end of the ball. Sometimes not taking note of flavours but rather of the effects of food and wine. 

The bill is always, well not always, but generally smaller when dining alone. And there are plenty more ticks in the plus column. There’s no discussion of preference of destination, or seating, or timings, or dress-code, or whose turn it is to drive. 

No. I’m there to be fed and feted. I will do my part and concentrate and savour and allow my mind to make analogous links to past experiences. Above all I will immerse myself in the moment. No photos or signals of any kind to my ‘friends’ on social media. There will be no recorded proof of my experience. Just a warm memory.

Living proof of my contention are the Michelin inspectors who travel alone to make their judgements. Be like them I say. Dress-up and take yourself out to dine and wine. Add a little affectation to your ‘fit’ to make it look interesting. A buttonhole, a fascinator, ripped jeans, whatever you like.

The downsides are few but significant. Firstly, the conversation regarding going out alone can be awkward if you have a significant house-mate. Best to choose an evening when the other one is already committed to something. Golf, book club, or binging TV.

Secondly there’s the dreaded chatty wait staff. The ones that don’t wait and can’t wait to tell you of their week, their life in general, or their travel plans to far-off lands to find a cool bar to work in. There are many who think their job is to make conversation with patrons. It isn’t. The clue is in the title. The job is to wait until you’re needed, then do your job; bring me things, then take the plates away, then bring me more things. And no! I don’t want you to explain the menu. If the menu needs explaining then get someone to rewrite it! I digress. 

Ian Thomas is a chef and caterer specialising in paella. He cooks lunches and functions at Unison Vineyard.
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