I came out on the back deck to enjoy the balmy evening temperatures and bird song. It’s almost summer and the warm weather makes me want to sit out and watch the stars, or drive roads long into the night, or have never-ending conversations that while away the dusky hours. I brought out to the deck with me a few books and a glass of wine… and of course, my phone. The tweet was a picture of Anthony Bourdain walking in the street of a market and the caption read “I got a serious lust for shawarma.” Being the ignorant foodie that I am, I thought it was a type of Indian cuisine. I’m pretty sure I was thinking of Korma. After looking it up, I could confirm that I don’t think I’ve ever had shawarma, but I know what it is.
While still in my state of mistaken food identity, I tried to think of the last time I had Indian food. It was probably when my friend Stacy came up to visit a few years ago… and before that I think was also with Stacy down in Memphis. Then I was thinking about how infrequently I go out to dinner with people – especially to try different cuisines. Around here, I go out to eat at the bars, and almost always on my own. I hang with friends for a few beers and when they leave I order food. We’re not go out to dinner friends. We’re hang at the bar friends.
What I was trying to figure out was when was the last time I did the let’s go out to dinner thing. You know where you spend half as much time trying to decide where to go as you spend at the actual restaurant. You look up directions and menus and neighborhoods. It felt like it had been forever. Then I remembered the two dinner dates I went on in Oakland – to Mua and to À Côté. Separated only by a few days, they were two wildly different experiences. The one, Mua, felt soulful and lovely. The other, À Côté, felt overpriced and disconnected. I suspect the company influenced my impression of the meal more than the other way around. The one was a good connection and the other a little less so.
What I can’t figure out is why going out to dinner feels like it’s meant to be a shared experience. For some reason, I can’t imagine going out to an Ethiopian or Middle Eastern restaurant on my own. I don’t do those things here because we don’t have a lot of restaurants to choose from, but even when I lived in Memphis, I didn’t go out to restaurants on my own. Bars, yes. Bars at restaurants, yes. But I seldom went to places where I would be seated at a table by myself. I’m sure it has to do with some general societal awkwardness of sitting at a table alone. It seems more natural and easier to people watch from the bar. And it’s a shame I don’t go out to dinner on my own, because I really enjoy going to new places. I like establishing my regular haunts (I need my regular haunts), but I genuinely miss going to new restaurants (and especially with other people). Maybe I need to learn to do more of that on my own. Maybe I need to treat it the way I do when I cook a big meal for myself – a few hours of decadence – almost as if I’m on a date with myself.
I never got around to the books. The weather is still nice and I’m contemplating a refill on the wine. Not to mention “I got a serious lust for shawarma” and maybe a little adventure.