DINING SOLO? IT’S “SIT AT THE BAR SEPTEMBER.”
Solo dining is more popular than ever with Gen Z leading the way. Dining critic Susie Davidson argues it’s the highest form of self care + heads out for two solo dinners at Familiar Creature + Celadon Thai.
Words: Susie Davidson Powell
A last minute change in weekend plans meant instead of bouncing around Brooklyn and Manhattan, I was home. And though the days filled with work and home projects, I decided to do something I hadn’t in a while: Take myself to dinner alone. Twice..
Around 2019, a flurry of articles extolled the act of peeling and slicing fruit for a loved one as though people were surprised to see it as an unspoken love language. (The originating essay is here; a follow up in the Washington Post is here. The rest swiftly piled on.) As the child of a mother and grandmother who would routinely peel my peaches and apples, handing each slice to me one by one, I didn’t know it even needed to be said.
So I’m here to argue that dining alone is a love language too, and—perhaps the highest form of self care.
OpenTable reports a 23% increase in solo dining up in the last year, and that doesn’t take into account walk-ins. In place of the revered self-care rituals of skin/hair/gym/spa days that center a bared self, stripped of contact, in celebration of bed-rotting and staying in, dining solo is the intentional act of inserting yourself into the community, in shared space, and taking your time to publicly eat. Getting dressed (or dressed up?) is committing not to a hurried drivethrough or the anonymity of takeout, but to sit with a menu and cycling through the 1:1 points of contact in a chef-prepared, server-delivered meal.
In an time where we’re busier and more isolated than ever, a sudden cancellation of plans can leave you fumbling in the back of the freezer or ordering in with a few taps on your phone. Showing up, whether as walk-in or with a reservation, is a commitment not just to yourself but to time itself. Without a companion, dining solo puts you more emphatically in the hands of the chef, in the closest of contracts: the presentation of food. As a food critic for over a decade, I have had immeasurable solo meals, delighting in being able to survey the room from a bar seat or settling in for table service. But well before that, I’d made solo dining my own.
Add to this the idea that solo dining can also be either intentionally or accidentally social. I can’t claim ‘Sit at the bar September’ as it was started by the former Real Housewives of New York City cast member, icon and influencer Laurie Cooper, whose undeclared age and lively Instagram are a perpetual reminder to go out solo and meet people in high energy bars. She’s not wrong. Dining solo at a bar gives you a sightline on the bartender action, sometimes the kitchen, and results in conversations with neighboring guests far more easily than when you’re locked in as a party of two. If Cooper’s mission may be slightly different than mine, (her helpful lists are often where to meet eligible men sorted by borough or favored hotel bars,) we agree on a key point: Sitting at the bar is an under-appreciated art and often fun.
When people tell me they could never dine alone, I’m genuinely perplexed. It’s not like I’m suggesting you wander into some dark alley to score dinner in an unmarked (although I have done that.) I’m saying give it a go. Start with a drink. Be open to some small plates. Hey, order dessert first, if that’s your thing. You could be tucking into sticky toffee pudding with custard or strawberry Pavlova. Yes, say yes!
It’s not only about having the confidence to enter a restaurant and acknowledge you’re a party of one. Having worked in front-of-house roles, you might catch a shadow of disappointment on your server’s face as they seat you at a table for two knowing their fortune will not be made on you. But many restaurants are welcoming the solo dinner. A TouchBistro report suggests 46% of Gen Z are dining solo at least once a week, closely matching the 49% of millenials. The data also shows solo diners spend more than each of those splitting a check—so restaurants are smartly leaning in. (Keith McNally’s Balthazar has long had a policy of offering a complimentary glass of champagne to every solo diner for the past 20 years.) A dining room two-top can have its perks, but I prefer the edges of a room, even on a date. So if I’m bringing a book or casually observing the scene, there’s no better spot than at a seat at the bar.
Which brings me to my two solo dinners this past weekend. Since I regularly review restaurants, it’s a joy to choose plates solely on the basis of what I want, rather than the work of forming a comprehensive opinion from an entire menu.
On the last weekend of Saratoga’s track season, with Familiar’ Creature’s dining room in full swing, I was offered the last stool at the bar. Knowing I’d be fairly quick, I scored a seat at reserved high top for six—needed back in an hour—by the doors to the sunny patio with a DJ spinning for the crowd. Staff on frequent passes made offers of wine and recommendations, and I soon had a crisp, berry-forward Zucchi Lambrusco in hand, followed by fresh bright plates: The triangular chunks of a ripe tomato salad wore a thick chile vinaigrette dotted with garlic scape chermoula and were nested around smoked yogurt that clung to every bite. Alongside, a plush tuna crudo layered over watermelon aguachile had charred avocado (yes, charred), slivered jalapeno, basil oil, pink peppercorn and…peanut brittle in an unexpected set. A clever combo effectively layering sweet-salty crunch. With eyes on the patio I savored every bite.
These are plates that celebrate simplicity, and maybe some familiarity, with unexpected pops of color and flavor in bites to keep your tongue alert and your mind quizzical. And while Chef Michele Hunter is well-known for her classics like schmaltzy potatoes and impossibly juicy roast half chicken (yes, I had that too), its her playfulness in composition that feels like the care in being handed a slice of peeled fruit. Or the intimacy of cooking with friends, you might hand you a plate saying, “Here, try this—I made it for you.”
DINNER TWO
It’s been a decade since I reviewed Celadon Thai in its original Latham location, interviewing chef-owner Berm Chanprakhon, who with his wife, Yaya Wongprasert, came to Albany from Bangkok by way of Hollywood, Los Angeles. In Bangkok, Chanprakhon was a chef at the European-focused five-star Sukhothai Hotel; in Los Angeles, he spent 12 years cooking the food of his homeland, before moving to Albany on the recommendation of an locally-based friend. Over the years, I have picked up food from Celadon many times, but not dined in at the larger Latham location on Loudon Road. Sitting at the bar with a cold glass of sauvignon blanc and leafing through the menu, I asked a bartender if they had pad kra pao (the Thai name for holy basil, a herb known for its peppery, clove-like flavor) and som tam, catching Chef Berm’s attention, so he came over to show me where each dish was translated to English as basil stir fry + papaya salad.
We struck up a conversation, interspersed with sidebars from servers, talking about travel and living abroad, about cooking and culture, and the versatility of Thai sauces, like French mother sauces. As plates came out of the kitchen for the dining room, returning servers checked on me, replenishing water, picking up threads of conversation. Chef Berm decided to give me a cutting of his kra pao plant. By the time I left, I felt thoroughly seen and the next day I collected the potted kra pao along with a tub of his slow simmered kra pao sauce for me to try my own stir fry at home.
And while that the end might be a little unusual, so many stories start with a conversation at a restaurant bar.
So for “Sit at the bar September,” take yourself out for a solo date night, and try not to bury your face in your phone.