On Dining Alone and Getting to Know Your Senses

"Here's a black napkin so you don't get lint on your black pants."

I glanced up. A starched, white napkin sat folded on the table in front me. The hostess was handing me the black one, so I took it and spread it over my lap.

Quality is in the details, and I knew I was in for a real treat.

I was at Ruth's Chris with a gift card from some of the nicest coworkers anyone could wish for; they presented the card to me on my last day at a former job. I decided to go solo, something I've wanted to try for a while. I can pop in a deli for a quick sandwich and read the news on my phone (and by "read the news" I mean "tweet or check Facebook"), but I think a lengthy meal at a classy joint is a different story. I set some rules: no phone (except for photos, and with my phone I don't have to unlock it to use the camera) and I had to sit there for at least an hour. Oh, and I was going to have a good time.

The evening started with my own bread basket and slab of butter. I was already asking myself why I don't go out by myself more often. The waiter was extremely friendly, and while I tried to maintain a facade of refinement and familiarity with such a classy setting, I think he could see right through to my giddy excitement at eating a Ruth's Chris steak.

I chose the seared ahi tuna appetizer. I couldn't have chosen better. It was seared perfectly with a delicious spicy mustard sauce that appropriately cleared my sinuses without disintegrating my tongue. For my entree, a filet, medium rare, with au gratin potatoes on the side.

I chewed slowly letting the tastes take their full effect. This was good, enjoyable, relaxing. I looked around--a few couples, a double date, some businessmen. I opened my ears to the muffled conversations mingling with the soft jazz typical of fine dining establishments. The chime of silverware, the clink of glasses. The sound the fork makes when it meets the plate.

And then it came. My filet, sizzling in a pool of butter. The meat was tender with the bounce similar to that of a marshmallow. Cooked to perfection, and I started to eat. Refined little bites, while on the inside I danced and sang. What a novel concept: the most delicious cuts of meat cooked to perfection and served in a rich pool of nature's liquid gold.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I ordered dessert: bread pudding in a delightful sweet sauce. (At this point I was about to burst, but "Always room for dessert" is my motto, so I pressed on.) It smelled sweet and warm and satisfying, and the taste would confirm those sentiments. I sipped coffee and nibbled at the pudding, scrumptious and the perfect ending.

Really, it was a lovely evening. You might think I'm obsessive about steak and food in general (which, maybe so, but that's not the point); really it was more about having a concentrated evening, one to myself which I spent in a conversation with my five senses. I thought about people and friends and family. Places I had been or want to go. Dreams and ambitions. All while eating the most delicious of meals and enjoying a night very, very well spent.