Eating Out

Eating Out

By Emily Stephenson-Rose

I just turned twenty-three, I'm also single...feel sorry for me yet? Probably not. I was having dinner with my good friend (also called) Emily the other day at Lambourne (a very cosy restaurant and bar) on Wimbledon Broadway, while being repeatedly reminded of the fact that she, the poised blonde, has a boyfriend and a regular salary working for a high-end retailer, while I, the brunette, university (almost) graduate, had...well a delicious salmon roulade, a margarita and not much else to be honest.

By the way I highly recommend Lambourne if you want to enjoy a romantic, candlelit dinner for two. Yes, it has a pretty rowdy bar (I think it was particularly so that night because of the football) but tucked away at the back is a delightful little den, with comfy seating and a deliciously-dark décor; the perfect way to set the mood. So just as Emily is regaling me with how much action she's getting now that she has a regular beau, I look over to the table positioned one away from ours, in between which sits a thirty-something year old guy enjoying a solitary linguine, just as two people sit down. One is a gorgeous yet demure looking, immaculately dressed, blonde girl and the other a very sexy, older, 'businessman' type. They look a little formal, shy even. I stop Emily and ask, "A couple? Or father and daughter?" To be honest she really couldn't care less. In Emily's world thirty is old and twenty is a baby, so unless the Eastern European girl and the Asian guy are indeed father and daughter, then the situation is entirely perverse and she really doesn't want to know. Nevertheless I'm beguiled. Yes these two are a little awkward with each other, but hey, I really wouldn't mind an older guy like that. Having said that, if this guy is indeed her father, I'm going to feel a little bit ridiculous, so for the time being, I keep 'em shtum.

Emily, otherwise known as Blondie, made a good choice with this place and thus being in possession of a thirty-percent-off-food voucher, we arranged to meet for a quiet dinner. Upon first arrival, I really thought, "Beam me up Scotty" because a flat screen TV, pine-wood overload and a chaotic-looking bar are really not my thing and certainly not my idea of a "classy joint". But I was delighted to see, after venturing a little further, that the restaurant has an entirely separate ambience to the rest of the place. Yes it's virtually blacked out; black banquettes, black chair, tables, but rather than being oppressive, with the candlelight and comfy seating, it was more like being in a chic and cosy grotto.

Remember the guy? The one who's sat alone with his linguine? I want to be like that! The sad truth of it is this; lunch alone, coffee alone, fine. Dinner alone? God no. Is that bad? I don't know. I've sat in Kingston's Wagamama plenty of times, shamelessly wiling away an afternoon, nursing an issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine alone, while enjoying an amai udon and a duck gyoza in my teens but something I've never managed to grow out of is the “alone at dinner time in a restaurant” fear. And there sits this man, completely alone and enjoying his meal, totally self-assured and relaxed. No blackberry, newspaper or God forbid a book to arm himself against judgemental onlookers. Maybe it's an age thing, you grow up and stop caring about the little things. You grow up, get hungry and when you gotta eat, you gotta eat. Or maybe it's (dare I say it) a woman thing. No, I'm not saying women aren't allowed to go out and eat dinner alone. I just think, sad though it may seem, that eating dinner alone, screams "I don't have a man to take me out and all my friends are busy!" Pretty pathetic when I see it written down like that to be honest.

The dinner is rounded off by a slice of chocolate tart with creme fraiche (not exactly the highlight of the meal) and there, out of the corner of my eye, past the thirty-something year old guy as he reaches for his wallet, is the couple now sitting beside each other on the banquette. She holds his face in her hands and leans in to kiss him but stops as she catches me staring. I look away, embarrassed.