Marina O’Loughlin is wrong – there’s joy in solo dining

This week, the furore over solo diners took centre stage as Alex Dilling found himself at the frontline of an argument around his eponymous restaurant’s decision to charge solitary punters more. Or not. An apparent online clarification (which in politics might be dubbed a “screeching U-turn”) now says that the two-Michelin starred restaurant welcomes those dining alone, and that they won’t pay any more.

In all the blustery back and forth with online debate, hot takes and hotter counter-takes, one journalist’s reaction flew under the radar.

Marina O’Loughlin, the former Sunday Times restaurant critic, took to Threads to announce of solo diners that “Overwhelmingly, they’re joyless pretentious box-tickers”.

I hate to say it, but Marina is wrong.

I recall with pleasure the many fantastic meals I’ve eaten alone; my camera roll a scrapbook upon which plate after delicious plate is badly photographed. A digital dining memorial of meaningful milestones. From strange solo dinners at 6pm which acted as a breakfast before a night shift, to a sudden lunchtime hankering for a filthy little burger or a plate of schnitzel with a glass of chilled Riesling. Pretentious? Far from it. Solo dining is a thing of immeasurable joy.

Certainly, there will be horrid besuited hedgefund types who, as soon as any international restaurant awards are announced, book themselves in tout de suite, playing with their chums a game of restaurant one-upmanship that only horrid besuited hedgefund types get to enjoy.

But in my experience, these aren’t your everyday solo diners. Solo diners can be some of the most extraordinary people you could ever want to meet.

They are working people who fill up a café before a shift, they’re the cleaners eating at a counter restaurant trying to savour a taste of home, they’re waiters and porters quickly scoffing down calories before service, or all of the above, seeking out culinary delights in a new and oftentimes unfamiliar city. These are the people with a propensity for eating well who just didn’t happen to have a mate free that moment, or more accurately, one wanting to drop £200 on an occasion dinner.

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O’Loughlin’s quick-to-pounce comments reveal an ignoring of the hospitality industry and the people within it. The truth is, you’ll find it’s an industry full of solo diners. Everyone from the cheffy big-wigs to the late night hotel receptionists; yes, they will dine convivially, but I guarantee that their lives, shift patterns and proclivity towards food mean they regularly dine alone.

One of my favourite solo-diners is Leni Miras, a little-known industry legend and the former head of F&B at The Beaumont in Mayfair. We met working at the hotel nine years ago and have remained friends ever since. We sat down for a chat.

“Don’t get me wrong, dining with friends is great” Miras begins, “but to discover new restaurants, particularly in a new city, there’s nothing better than eating alone.”

“The people who dine alone are the ones who really care about restaurants.”

Dining alone allows you to indulge in every element of the experience. From the ebb and flow of a kitchen, operating at pulsating speeds, to the quality of the cutlery, right down to the weight of the napkins. When dining with friends, one tends to miss a few details. Little wonder, when you’re three martinis into dinner and the starters haven’t hit the table. But that’s okay. With friends you’re primarily eating out to enjoy a great time with the great company you’ve assembled. Alone, though, and it’s a different story. Solo diners are there for a special kind of quiet admiration, to appreciate the restaurant in its full, uninterrupted glory.

“In the best restaurants, you get the full attention of the staff and you can relish in every little thing,” Miras tells me. “You get to geek out over what’s in front of you, the food, the wine, everything from the bread and butter to the digestif at the end. There’s a lot of fun in that.”

Even at the highest level, hospitality folk are often the keenest to go. To check out the competition? Partly – never forget how deeply competitive the industry can be – but also to revel in another’s creativity, to bask in the glow of exceptional craft and original ideas. It’s everything that makes eating out magical.

“I’d saved up for a couple of months to eat at L’Enclume. Simon [Rogan] has three Michelin stars there now, but when I went all those years back it had two. The menu still cost about £180. It’s such a destination, but it’s so remote, you need to buy train tickets, stay overnight, plus the meal itself, it quickly added up.” All things considered, and with L’Enclume achieving its third Michelin star, with trains, overnight stay, tasting menu and a good glug of wine, you’ll need to muster upwards of £600 for a round trip from London. A substantial sum not to be sniffed at.

“In the end it was so worth it. I was just so excited about the food offering and discovering what these chefs were doing, everything about it was special.”

The chat with Miras confirmed that overwhelmingly, people tend to dine alone because they choose to spend their money on what they love, namely exceptional food and warm hospitality. Eating in a restaurant where the doorman knows your name and the bartender knows your order – feeling like you’re somebody – is one of life’s naughtiest joys.

These are people eating out to engage, to discover, to taste and create memories. Box ticking? Please.

O’Loughlin isn’t entirely wrong, but using a word like “pretentious” to blanket those seeking new culinary delights seems to ignore an entire strata of solo diners. Coming from a former critic, someone who made a living writing about restaurants, this one felt ill-judged.

From the counter at Sabor which acted as an electrifying little source of culinary inspiration to the cosy pub corner of the Barley Mow, where a newspaper provided mental stimulation before crepuscular hotel shifts; I remember all my little solo dinners. Unceremonious in the extreme, except to me. At the time, they couldn’t have been more important, more essential.

Equally, I’ve been lucky enough to meet some brilliant people who were eating alone in the restaurants at which I worked. Writers, actors, artists, students, widowed women and lonesome men looking for succour in the form of a restorative meal. These people are not “overwhelmingly pretentious box-tickers”. They were some of the most interesting people I could ever hope to meet.

Judge someone by the company they keep. And if they keep no company, perhaps you just didn’t cut the mustard to dine with them.