Eating alone

I used to hate eating alone. I still do in some ways. More and more though, the virtue of dining alone becomes evident. One can have a purely personal relationship with ones food without the distraction of others. Without the fainthearted’'s shock over everything, without the snob’'s look of disapproval, without vegetarian'’s, well, being vegetarian, and conversations, one can savour every morsel and every slurp. It is hard to fully appreciate a fine piece of hontoro when someone else is asking you, "“how is it?"” Without interference, the diner can experience his own taste fully and without pretension. When I cook at home and dine alone, this is only more so. The entire process of cooking and eating is focused. Perhaps it is the ultimate self-indulgence, a closed circle of tending to oneself. I do it for no other than myself; I look for approval from no other than myself. To do it too often closes oneself from the world. I do not recommend that. But sometimes, when one needs the company of oneself. I heartily recommend dining alone, and do put some effort into it.