No Man’s Land

Being a solo adventurer through much of my life, I have observed many things that couples or groups would miss. It's an interesting thing, being single and on the road. Whereas the stigma around being on your own has been less obvious in recent years, often the treatment of those who choose to be has not.

This is at its most visible when dining. Luckily for me, when I dine solo I almost always choose the chef's counter on a high stool, as there is plenty to enjoy with the cooking action right in front of you. However, this is not for everyone. I have noticed that if you book just for one person, you are sometimes given no other option than the counter. In some instances, your option is the bar. and this is where it can get ugly.

The bar "counter" as such, is usually at either end of the restaurant, away from the main action and atmosphere of the room, almost an afterthought and in a forgotten zone. On some occasions, soon after being seated, I have realised that I am in the washing up area. Cocktails are sometimes created here, but often, this is the area of high activity, lots of water, piles of plates and glasses and plenty of noise. It is not the restaurant experience you expect. The smells of the flame-grilled food replaced by that of soap suds and bleach. The best establishments will let you know upon arrival that you had booked the counter and promptly ask if you would prefer a table. That's the way to do it.

Another very common example of what befalls the solo diner is that if you don't want the counter, the tables for two, the smallest in the space, are often located in the most awkward spots. These can be tucked behind a partition, or alongside a high traffic area, and worst of all, on the way to, or right outside the washrooms. Yuck. No matter where your table is, that table for two inevitably becomes a table for one with the removal of your invisible dining companion’s cutlery and glassware. Let’s make the insecure feel even worse.

In Singapore, at a perennially busy Italian trattoria, I had the option of booking a counter spot or a table. Considering what I was intending to eat (I had chosen from the website hours before), I decided on a table. Once I arrived, the server walked me past the bar and kitchen area towards a long slender corridor where there was one, yes, just one, dimly lit table for two in the crammed corridor with the washroom at the other end. You couldn’t even see the main restaurant interior.

I was offered the counter and I accepted that. I watched others arrive, many just two diners, and they were shown to more central tables. If I hadn't booked for one, you can bet one of those tables would be offered to me.

In Japan, it can be very strange indeed. On my last visit to Fukuoka, I decided to have some sushi in an expansive sushiya, with a large stainless-steel counter wrapping around the kitchen prep area. An unattractive space. It was around 6.30pm and I was the first to enter.

Rather than seat me where the sushi chef was doing his thing, I was escorted all the way around the back to the very corner, the last seat of the counter, with a concrete pylon next to me and no way of seeing any of the chefs or servers. To get attention, I had to crane my neck and stare around the corner.

I reiterate, I was the only one in the restaurant. Why would they seat me there? Why not near the windows where passersby could see the restaurant had a customer? They actually sat me where they couldn’t see me. After half an hour or so, two other customers came in, and they were placed in prime position, opposite me and in front of the theatrics.

I’ve been seated in the worst seat of the house during previous trips to Japan. On one memorable occasion (for all the wrong reasons) I was ushered to an area far away from the main restaurant space. Into the secondary one, the overflow section, where there were absolutely no other customers. I was told to sit in the furthest seat in the corner at the very back. Upon requesting to seat elsewhere, I was refused this and not given any other choice. Baffling and frustrating in equal measure.

There is the possibility that this is discrimination. It is hard to tell, as the servers are quite polite. They just give no explanation. It’s just the way it must be. That is Japan. These are times that you truly feel like the foreigner. You are gaijin. It is not pleasant and spoils the evening altogether.

One time, far worse than that, I was in Tokyo at a heralded omakase that had somehow seemed to escape the gaze of tourists. I was welcomed in quite formally and promptly seated. There was no English spoken here, and that never phases me. I sometimes prefer it. Within ten minutes or so, a small group arrived, two Japanese couples, clearly good friends.

They were seated at the other end of the 10 seater counter, and for the entire evening that followed, I was completely ignored , except for the arrival of each dish. No eye contact from the chef and assistant. All the chef’s attention was with them. Not an ounce of recognition at any time from the other diners. I could have been naked standing on my head on the counter right in front of them and they still would not have acknowledged my presence in any way. As I left, the chef gave a half smile and nodded. That was all. I didn't get the usually customary walk to the door and bow for thanks.

This was nothing to do with being solo. This really had to be discrimination. It is dreadful to feel so invisible when you give custom to an establishment. I understand the importance of speaking the language, but it takes time to get there, and if you make at least basic effort, then you should be treated equally.

Solo diners are quiet and very well behaved. They pay more attention to absolutely everything. They observe it all. The attention to the food and the interest in the servers is stronger. On a couple of recent occasions, I do believe I may have been mistaken for a restaurant reviewer. I am very rarely a “walk-in”. I always book. And by doing so, depending on the level of venue, I have been treated like a king. Upon realising that I am getting treatment over and above the expected, I like to get out my phone and write discreet notes half under the table. Snap a few artfully positioned shots. This gets a lot of tongues wagging.

If you are not treated with grace and respect from the start, all you need to do is show you know the restaurant’s philosophy and that you have researched the food and the chef. That’s when things begin to look up. You get a lot more attention from that point on.

Accommodation doesn't get off lightly either. The Single Supplement. What the hell does this really mean? Why is it more expensive for a solo traveller to stay per night than one part of a couple? Often this price is significantly more. This has led me to abandon a hotel on more than one occasion.

Solo time is a beautiful thing. It brings great joy. It just needs to be understood and recognised as not being unusual or unfortunate. If you don't dine solo, be brave and give it a go. It brings enormous rewards and revelations through the non-distraction of being unaccompanied.

Revel in the solo adventure. Most of all, have fun with it. Take the good with the bad. Know you are lucky and comfortable with yourself and with the enriched discovery that always presents itself to you.