Is there anything more exciting than discovering a new restaurant—tasting dishes you’ve never tried, soaking in the atmosphere, and people-watching like it’s a competitive sport?
At the same time… is there anything more terrifying than requesting a table for one? You glance around and see every other table filled with people laughing, sipping wine, and clearly discussing the most riveting, life-changing stories. Meanwhile, you’re there—solo—wondering if everyone is silently judging you.
It’s awkward. It’s uncomfortable. It’s enough to make your anxiety order a side of anxiety.
For ten years of living alone before marriage, I never once ate out by myself. Not even at McDonald’s. Seriously—drive-thru and a parking lot burger was my strategy. Because surely, if anyone saw me eating alone, they’d think: Poor guy. Must be lonely. Must be tragic. Probably has no friends.
Of course, none of that was true—or even mattered. In reality, nobody in that restaurant was zooming in on my perceived loneliness. They were too busy enjoying their own fries. But at the time? My ego wasn’t convinced.
Then I got married. Problem solved. No more table-for-one shame. Sure, it was more expensive—double entrées, double drinks—but at least I wasn’t “that guy” eating solo.
Fast forward: suddenly, I’m alone again. Which meant: no fancy restaurants. No cozy cafés. Honestly, no leaving the house. Uber Eats and Netflix became my dinner dates.
Until one day, I found myself alone in Malta. And let’s be real: room-service sushi just wasn’t going to cut it.
So I did it. I went out. In Malta the food options were endless—street eats, bustling coffee shops, fine dining—and I wanted to try them all.
Street food and coffee shops were easy. No one cares who’s sitting alone when they’re grabbing a quick lunch or running between sightseeing spots. In fact, coffee shops became my safe haven: cappuccino in hand, good music in my ears, and the world buzzing by while I sat in my little bubble
But the ultimate test? Michelin-star dining.
My first solo fine-dining experience was AKI in Valletta—a Michelin-starred Japanese restaurant with an open kitchen. Dimly lit. Romantic. Intimate. Basically designed for couples on anniversaries or first dates, not a party of one with a slightly nervous grin.
But you know what? When the food is that good, you stop caring. Each perfectly curated, seasonal bite was its own distraction. I wasn’t the “lonely diner” anymore—I was an explorer on a flavor expedition.
The only real downside? A party of one can only order so much. You can’t exactly demolish the entire menu (unless you’re prepared to roll home).
But here’s what I learned sitting there with my miso soup and courage: dining alone isn’t a tragedy. It’s freedom. It’s saying, “I’m here to live my life, even if it’s just me at the table.”
So now, whether it’s street food or Michelin stars, I take myself out. I savor every bite. And sometimes—just sometimes—I raise my glass to the empty seat across from me, not because I’m lonely, but because I’m proud.
Proud that I showed up. Proud that I ordered dessert.
And proud that I didn’t need an audience to enjoy the best meal of my life.
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