Table for One? Not a Chance
What I learned eating my way through Spain
Biting on a juicy shrimp pintxo hugged by soft grilled mushrooms bathed in buttery garlic. Washing the warm goodness down with the sweet dryness of a Rioja red wine.
This was the start of my unsuspecting stopover in Logroño, stumbling onto Calle Del Laurel — a long, narrow street bursting with locals and packed side-to-side with vendors, each boasting a single specialty pintxo.
It was a casual evening turned into a collector’s haul of traditional Spanish cuisine. From paprika-infused Galician pulpo on steamed peeled potatoes to grilled brie and honey followed by the creamy, salty goodness of a Basque cheesecake.
Smoke and laughter spilling all around.
Not even a half hour in this haven and my tastebuds were quivering.
It wasn’t just a place with good food. It was where old friends reunited, new friendships formed, and tourists disguised as locals.
You couldn’t tell where the street began or ended. Time felt infinite, a moment protected by the strength of a shared, universal experience. There wasn’t any other place you needed to be.
Food may have been the main event, but people were what made it special — the person I came with and the locals I met there.
In Spain, food is meant to be shared.
A table for one? Good luck.
Either you cook and stay home, or grab a friend and linger on the remnants of the afternoon, drinking wine or coffee and eating well into the night.
Rarely will you find the solo diner with a book in hand like you might in Paris or Florence.
But having attended university with 36,000 students and traveled alone, I found eating by myself to be a casual occurrence. Sometimes a night out just for me. A different way to appreciate my surroundings.
In Spain, not so much.
While it may have been a threat to my American individualism, I quickly saw the beauty in it.
I was amazed walking home from work on Mondays, the terraces bustling just as on a Friday with people enjoying each other’s company for a drink.
Just this Sunday, I turned the corner of my block to find three rows of tables blocking traffic.
It was a flash calçotada. Neighbors handling a massive grill, pumping out charred calçots (a type of green onion) like shaved ice at a street fair.
Some of the best moments I’ve had living in Barcelona are those laughing with friends or meeting new people over a warm meal.
Even going for tapas three nights in a row (sometimes that’s just how it goes living in Spain), the same foods are tasted and reinvented with different people. Each time making new space for them in my memories.
Grabbing coffee on the go is a no go.
The lifestyle here also taught me to be more present around food.
Especially when it comes to drinking coffee.
How often have you seen anyone in Spain on a café con leche run? I can count the moments on one hand.
I first learned this the hard way in the metro on my way to work with awkward stares and a drink in hand.
Now, I slow down and enjoy coffee as a moment in itself — no matter the time of day. I find the time for a break and invite someone along with me when I get the chance.
It’s never really about the food.
Even the smallest of meals can be an experience to cherish. Like when a simple weeknight meal turned into the occasional full-blown roommate dinner party at my apartment.
Meals are where some of our most treasured memories are formed, especially when we get to share them with others.
In Spain, it’s about the company. Letting time slip away as long as it needs to experience a shared moment that will stay with you forever.
