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Eating Alone

I live alone. On most nights I sleep alone. I work alone on many days. I drive places alone on most occasions. I do almost every day to day function alone and I am fine with it. One thing I hate to do alone is eat. The odd juxtaposition is that I love to eat. Usually my love of food outweighs, literally and figuratively my pet peeve, but at times, it causes me to skip meals. When I was a child, I'd have breakfast with my family, if not all sitting, at least frantically gathering papers and briefcases, while all in the same room. Lunch was enjoyed with friends, sometimes even sharing our meals, and dinner was spent sharing stories of everyone's day.

Sometime in the mid 80's all of this started to change. The family dynamic had changed. With so many marriages ending in divorce, so many people working two jobs, and so many people having child after child, not thinking these things through, the way of life everyone had known had changed. Meals were seen as almost a bother. People started hitting drive-thrus at an alarming rate and many meals were had alone at a desk, cubicle, or had while driving. Seriously, think back to when you were a kid. Aside from long trips, do you remember your parents eating or drinking in the car? No, because there were no console trays and cup holders. This not only lead to an obesity epidemic that is rampant in our country, but lead to the disintegration of meal time.

On most days, I either run to the deli and grab a bagel or egg sandwich and eat it at my desk. Weekends are usually spent alone by my computer, chowing down on an omelet or a muffin. Lunch is a sandwich or pizza, the occasional splurging for a hot dish at the local deli which makes a mean meatloaf. I rarely eat lunch on the weekends unless I'm out with friends. I used to cook dinner all the time for myself, but recently I have felt that it's too much work and I under appreciate my own doings. It's so much easier to grab something on the way home or call for pizza or Chinese. it's so easy, that I've grown overly accustomed to doing this even when I'm not dining solo. The food isn't the topic here, so I'll try and stay on point.

Dining alone has so many drawbacks. I find I tend to eat much faster when dining alone. Especially during lunch. The other day I walked to the deli and finished my lunch within 10 minutes. I barely tasted it. I definitely wouldn't say I enjoyed it. I also find that the inability to pause, enjoy the food, and converse, takes so much away from meals. I think other countries do meal times so much better than us. Eating a meal is an event. The food isn't the centerpiece, it's the company. Even when you go on vacation in the U.S., you pass by tiny outdoor tables of people smiling and huddled close together, enjoying a small meal and a large chat. This is the way it's supposed to be. I feel for some when I see people out, reading a paper, feverishly working on a tiny sandwich, looking like the last bite will sound an alarm and gain them access to great prizes. I'm guilty of all of these things. It doesn't make them right.

I'm not a small person, so the desire to eat, to consume would be a better term, overrides my dislike of eating alone. A huge heavily peppered steak, a baked potato slathered with sour cream, haricot verts dripping with butter, and a ice cold glass of water. Delicious and one of my favorite meals, but as I sit alone, flipping through channels, surfing the web (do people even say that anymore), possibly doing none. Staring at the plate, watching the steam rise, wishing some food genie would pop out and tell me about her day, I get a little sad. Maybe I'll chat with someone via facebook, maybe a phone call. It's not the same. Why does being able to say "please pass the salad dressing matter so much?" Maybe it was my upbringing, my love of constant chatter, from me or another, maybe it's being able to glance at someone you like, love, or don't even really know and learn something about them by the way they eat, they chew, the breath.

I don't know why I feel this way, but I know that when it comes to meals, I like to spend that Sunday morning brunch, that midday snack, or that home cooked meal sitting across or next to someone. I like to listen to them tell me of their day, their hopes, their woes. I like to digest what they're saying while I take another bite. I like to tell them of how I feel, what I want, how I dream. Somehow conversations during meals, good and bad, mean more to me. I like like to lean back, rest for a moment. Take in the aromas. Sometimes the good conversation can enhance a poor meal. Sometimes the reverse is true. When both are special, those are the moments we cherish and tell others about.

It's 9pm on a Tuesday. I haven't eaten since noon. I wouldn't say I'm starving, but maybe I have a craving. I don't need a porterhouse steak or some fabulous paella. I don't need a white linen tablecloth. Tonight, I'd revel in a happy meal, if only I could share that meal with someone else. There will be plenty of other nights and even more meals. I'll forget this blog in a week, as will anyone else who reads it. There are just some nights, when it's not about the food. It's about the company. Tonight the food isn't important. I'll grab something quick, maybe even the last orange in my fridge. Maybe tomorrow, I'll look across the table and get glance back. I think that next bite will taste so much better than my last.

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