Dining alone can be wonderful, but meals really are meant to be shared

Plonking yourself down on a stool, ordering a drink and starting a conversation with the person next to you? What a way to dine.

On another memorable outing in Sydney, I ended up talking all night to two great girls, one of whom became a friend of sorts and the other whose dad was the producer of some very important records. Picture: iStock

It was a warm spring evening somewhere in Sydney and the waiter had, for reasons I can’t recall, moved me from one part of the restaurant to an eating bar, where I soon found myself in conversation with two women, complete strangers. In about five minutes we were all great mates.

Before too long – and again, I can’t recall quite how it happened – a game was introduced to our threesome by one of the girls (the only game I take to restaurants is called “Guess the Wine’s Price”). It was called Cards Against Humanity – billed as “A party game for horrible people”. I’d never seen it, but apparently it’s well known.

By this stage, the three of us were having a jolly old time, and even if the (Mexican) food was fairly ordinary, the vino wasn’t. Somewhere between the guacamole and the tostada, the girl with the black card asked a question something like, “What’s the most humiliating thing you’ve ever had to do?”

My answer, in the company of total strangers, was bland; I didn’t need to relive my most shameful moments all over again. But the other girl? She wasn’t shackled by any such modesty. Oh no. Her answer involved a Tinder date and an unconventional request from this “gentleman” involving a certain piece of apparatus that, shall we say, allowed her to emulate the behaviour of someone who might typically identify as “male” in an amorous engagement.

This had us all buckled over in hilarity. And then she – this complete stranger – finished her lurid anecdote by touching me on the forearm and saying: “It really gave me a whole new appreciation of how hard you guys work.”

I repeat this tale not specifically to drag down the tone of this fine magazine – I’ve done that already – but to celebrate the absolute pleasure of dining solo and opening yourself up to the company of strangers. If you’re in the mood, an encounter with other diners can be a brilliant way to eat in a big, strange town. Or even a small one.

Dining solo can be a marvellous time for people-watching, reflection, for musing on the food and wine. For reading, even working. Sometimes I make long phone calls over my spaghetti. Or bore wine waiters with my enthusiasm for their calling, although they are actually paid to feign interest. This is standard stuff.

But plonking yourself down on a stool, ordering a drink and opening yourself up to the possibility of conversation with the person next to you? What a way to dine.

It happened again recently at Ragazzi in Sydney. I went there to be alone, but a lady of renown in the advertising industry engaged me almost the moment I arrived – and by the time she’d finished my pasta and my Barolo, a lot of secrets had been shared. She left tired and emotional after two hours toe-to-toe with me, leaving her boss to tell me all about himself for as long as it took to realise I was no longer enjoying myself.

On another memorable outing in Sydney, I ended up talking all night to two great girls, one of whom became a friend of sorts and the other whose dad was the producer of some very important records. It was a great night. A great meal.

I guess that’s the point here: dining alone can be wonderful, but meals really are meant to be shared. And you can dine out on some of the stories for years.