Delicious UK – (10)October 2019

Restauranttablesforonemaybea thing,butDeboraRobertson

won’tbemakinga reservationanytimesoon.Onceshe’sinher

ownhome,though,it’sa differentmatter.Callherselfishbut

shelovestorevelinthefreedomofcookingandeatingalone

ILLUSTRATIONS:

ISTOCK/GETTY

IMAGES

Solo dining, like

other solo pleasures, is

best enjoyed in private

I

’m going to tell you something

now that marks me – just as

surely as my abiding passion

for pashminas and my unbreakable

habit of calling running ‘jogging’ –

as being deeply unfashionable.

But we’re friends, so I guess it’ll be

okay. My secret is this: I don’t like

eating out alone.

I don’t mean the odd sandwich

or coffee while I scroll through

Twitter and eavesdrop on the

conversations of others (heartbreak

on table four, job interview at table

five, show-offs at tables two, eight

and nine). I’m talking about the

full-on, linen-and-silverware,

fine-foods-of-many-nations

dining alone experience.

However frequently I read

elegantly illustrated features about

sistas eating out for themselves –

claiming their space, saying, “Take

THAT, patriarchy; I’ll have the

entrecôte” – I’d just rather not,

thanks. For a start, when someone

has spent several sweaty hours

and deployed tweezers to bring

that tiny (so, so tiny!) morsel to

my table, it seems rude to scoff it

while reading the paper. Part of

my pleasure is talking about what

I’m eating, and invariably the

maître d’ is a bit busy for my

running scorecard on presentation,

taste, seasoning and texture.

HOME ALONE? BRING IT ON

Regardless of this, I love to eat

alone at home. Few pleasures can

compete with eating what you

want, however simple or complex,

with no compromises. Toast is

never as perfect as when you make

it just for yourself – scorchingly hot

with no one to cast a sharp glance

at the amount of butter you’re

trowelling on. You can eat the ripest

of peaches over the sink, juices

running stickily down your arms.

You’re not doing table maths, trying

to work out if you have fewer

prawns or a smaller piece of steak

than your table companions (come

on, you know you do it).

You’re free to plough in as much

garlic and chilli as you like, or to

devour the smelliest, perfectly ripe

cheeses with impunity. You can

enjoy every luscious forkful of

risotto lying prone on the sofa as

you catch up on your favourite

Netflix drama, or set a beautiful

table just for yourself with candles,

linen and sparkling glasses. Even

Nigella confesses to having sheets

ruined by soy sauce from solitary

bedtime feasts, so I take that as

permission to keep condiments in

my bedside cabinet just as she does.

It’s great to see Delia and her

younger self on the cover of this

issue. In 1986 her One is Fun!

(on the cover of that book she’s

wearing a cream piecrust-collared

shirt and black jacket, as though

she is taking herself on a date) hit

the market. It was aimed at

divorcees, students and otherwise

newly independent people who

aspired to live on something more

exciting than cereal and cottage

cheese. Lo! Here was chicken

véronique and kipper pâté for one,

32 deliciousmagazine.co.uk