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How to Eat Dinner Alone Abroad Without Wanting to Disappear Into Your Phone

Where to sit, what to order, and why the bar is the single best seat in the house when you're a party of one. A field guide to eating alone abroad and actually enjoying it.

The first time I ate dinner alone in a real restaurant abroad, in Madrid, I brought a book as a human shield, ordered the first thing I could pronounce, and ate so fast I barely tasted it. I’d built up the whole experience into a referendum on whether I was a sad person. The waiter, meanwhile, could not have cared less. To him I was table six, and table six wanted the croquetas.

That’s the secret nobody tells you: the discomfort of solo dining is entirely inside your own skull. Nobody else in the room is keeping score. Once you believe that, eating alone goes from an ordeal you endure to one of the best parts of traveling solo. Here’s how to get there faster than I did.

The single biggest upgrade is where you plant yourself. A two-top in the middle of a dining room can feel like a spotlight. A seat at the bar or the kitchen counter fixes nearly everything at once.

You face the action, not an empty chair. The bartenders and counter staff are used to talking to solo guests and will chat exactly as much or as little as you want. You’ll often eat better, too, because the people working the bar are happy to tell you what’s actually good tonight. In food-obsessed cities, the counter is where the regulars eat. You’re not the lonely exception there. You’re doing it right.

A table for one is the best possible setup for eating well, and most people waste it. Alone, you answer to nobody. No splitting a safe pasta because your travel partner doesn’t do offal. No rushing because someone’s bored.

Order the thing you’re curious about. Order two small plates instead of one big one so you taste more. Ask the staff what they’d eat, then order that even if you can’t fully picture it. Some of the best meals of my life happened because I was solo and could chase a whim without negotiating. The freedom is the gift. Use it instead of hiding behind the most familiar item on the menu.

Timing changes the entire feel. Show up when a restaurant opens or in that quiet window before the dinner rush, and a solo diner is genuinely welcome, not a table they’re itching to turn for a group of six. The staff have time to talk. The room is calm. You’re doing them a favor by filling a seat in the dead hour.

The kind of place matters too. Casual spots, tapas bars, ramen counters, bistros with a bar, izakayas, anywhere built around individual portions and counter seating, are made for this. A hushed, formal, white-tablecloth tasting menu is the hard-mode version. Save those for when you’re feeling bulletproof, or for company.

Here’s the trap. You bring the phone as armor against feeling awkward, then you spend the whole meal scrolling and you’ve gained nothing, no food memory, no people-watching, no actual rest. The phone makes you look more checked-out, not less alone.

Try this instead: phone in the bag for the first ten minutes. Just look around. Notice what regulars order, how the room moves, what’s coming out of the kitchen. The awkwardness peaks in the first few minutes and then evaporates once the food arrives and your hands and attention have a job. A real book or a small notebook is a far better companion than a screen if you want a prop. It reads as content, not anxious.

The deeper thing is this: learning to enjoy your own company over a good meal is a genuinely useful life skill, and travel is the lowest-stakes place to practice it. Nobody knows you. Nobody’s watching. The croquetas are excellent.

What if someone tries to talk to me and I just want to be left alone? A warm, brief answer and then a clear return to your food or book is universally understood. You don’t owe anyone a conversation, and bar staff are experts at reading that signal. Equally, if you do want to chat, the bar is where it happens naturally. You’re in control of the dial either way, which is exactly why solo dining gets addictive once the fear wears off.

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