Singles serving
An unattached food writer sees if she can meet her match while dining alone.
Wed Feb 6 2008
Photographs: Zandy Mangold
As a freelance writer, I work at home, alone. I live alone, travel alone and occasionally go to the movies…alone. I also happen to be single. Lately, I’ve noticed that dining alone is easier than ever—at a growing number of restaurants (Mercat, the Momofukus, Degustation), the bar is the hottest seat in the house. I decided to test the trend and see if the dining bar could be a worthy pickup-spot substitute for the boozing bar. I gave it a shot at three promising destinations—a sushi restaurant, a burger joint and an enoteca—alone.
Monday
Gari (370 Columbus Ave between 77th and 78th Sts, 212-362-4816)
7:15pm
I peer inside. Two thirtysomething guys, perhaps on a man-date, are a good distance from the sushi bar where I plan to settle. The remaining space hosts a mix of women and well-heeled couples. Not promising.
7:18pm
I claim my reservation for one. (Good news, singles: OpenTable does solo rezzies.) The hostess guides me to the sushi bar, and there he is: a lone guy reading a magazine, wearing—oh no—a wedding ring.
7:25pm
With four empty seats between me and my wedded friend, and five unclaimed spots to my right, I am in no-man’s-land. The most accessible male is the sushi chef, Peter, who takes my order: “Traditional sushi or Gari-style?” Gari-style, of course! I pop some seared yellowfin tuna annointed with a tomato compote into my mouth: phenomenal. Who cares if no one’s next to me?
7:42pm
A woman settles to my right, coolly opens her menu and orders a Sapporo. Rosita (as she introduces herself), a consultant from Austin, regularly dines alone. I blow my cover, and Rosita confirms that my strategy could bear fruit, as she recently met her boyfriend while dining at the bar. I am suddenly optimistic.
8:16pm
Rosita and I are now in sync with our omakase, savoring each bite together as she recounts her various solo-dining anecdotes. According to her, “The best conversation starter is food.” With my newly gained wisdom, I am determined to find a love connection on my next outing.
NEXT: Tuesday
Photographs: Zandy Mangold
Tuesday
DuMont Burger (314 Bedford Ave between South 1st and 2nd Sts, Williamsburg, Brooklyn; 718-384-6128)
8:41pm
I enter a house packed with Billyburg couples canoodling over mounds of fries. The communal table is full and the bar is standing room only. I hold my coat and sweater, trying to blend in while Michael Jackson’s “Black or White” blares on the sound system.
8:53pm
Still standing, I order a Sweet Action ale. Come to think of it, sweet action is precisely what I’m looking for.
9:21pm
A mass exodus leaves the bar empty. I claim a stool in the center, allowing room for an influx of males. Meanwhile, I chitchat with Innis, the bartender. Rosita’s words echo, Jedi-like, in my mind: “The best conversation starter is food.” I ask cute Innis for a dinner recommendation; he puts in an order for his favorite burger.
10:13pm
Finally: A guy with lower-lip scruff deposits himself two stools away from me. He eyes my half-eaten meal.
10:24pm
His food arrives and I attempt contact, asking what he’s ordered. “Same as you,” he answers coyly. Score one, Rosita.
11:03pm
By now, the strangers at the bar are like family. Innis and the rest of us debate what’s the best food in Williamsburg: Diner’s steak and eggs, Marlow and Sons’ cardamom ice cream, date cake at Moto.
11:40pm
My scruffy friend introduces himself as Sam, and orders another round. Is it worth staying? Content and full, I pass him my card should he want to share further dining suggestions, or possibly a date…cake.
NEXT: Thursday
Photographs: Zandy Mangold
Thursday
Gottino (52 Greenwich Ave at Perry St, 212-633-2590)
7:49pm
It seems that everyone has gotten wind of this trendy new enoteca. The narrow, brick-walled space is teeming with young singles. I squeeze in next to a basin of chilled prosecco and eye my prospects.
7:51pm
Two stools open up. A pair of clean-cut guys snag them before I can say “yuppie.” I engage in friendly banter, trying to share in the real estate and possibly a glass of vino, but they coldly tell me of their plan to acquire more seats for their friends. Rejected and relegated back to the basin, I order a salad.
8:17pm
A couple vacates a spot. I quickly grab my endive-and-blood-orange salad with a crème fraîche dressing, which spills down onto the back of a young woman. Whoops. Settling in to my superior perch, a couple inquires about my dish then swiftly turn their backs on me, blocking my view of the crowd. I watch the candle come dangerously close to lighting one of their jackets on fire. Which wouldn’t be the worst thing.
8:21pm
I eat the remainder of my salad with elbows in. Every delicious bite makes it worth the pain, though I am resigned to writing off tonight as yet another learning experience. From my mini experiment, I’ve gathered that eating solo earlier in the week is more conducive to cruising than on say, a Thursday (a.k.a. date night), and different locales offer different types of diners. Feeling more confident with my hard-earned insights, I fantasize of my return, hopeful that Gottino will be less crowded, and I will not be alone.
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