Não gosto de comer sozinha. Nem mesmo em casa. Acredito que comer é um ato de celebração, de prazer. E também acredito que qualquer prazer é sempre melhor compartilhado. Em casa, cozinho com música e, se sozinha, geralmente me acompanha a TV, um livro, jornal e muito vezes o computador. No café da manhã, refeição muito mesnoprezada pelos brasileiros, se tenho boa companhia e tempo, não dispenso um suco de laranja espremido na hora, ovos mexidos, frutas, café coado, torrada e tudo mais que temos direito. Mas no dia-a-dia a realidade é outra. É melhor sair mastigando um pão, comendo uma fruta ou bebendo um todinho pela rua mesmo a caminho do trabalho do que sentar sozinha pra comer.
Há quem tenha pavor de se sentar sozinho em restaurantes e entre em pânico só de pensar na situação. Já fui pra cama com fome só pra não ter que compartilhar o prato com a TV ou ter de aguentar aquele sorriso piedoso do garçom. Existe também pessoas que lidem com isso muito bem. Admiro, confesso.
Mas, para quando é inevitável comer sozinho (pra todo mundo esse dia chega), aqui vai um manual para a situação. É na verdade um relato da jornalista Suzanne Lenzer no blog do Mark Bittman.
O texto é lindo. Coloquei uns trechinhos aqui, mas quem se interessar pode ir ler inteiro que vale a pena.

“…suddenly, in a brand new city with nothing but time on my hands, I wanted to be out. But  the bravery that got me on an airplane with little more than a duffle bag and a couple of books abandoned me when it came to walking into a nice restaurant, asking for a table, and proceeding to eat dinner by myself. Hunger is a powerful force though, and it won out in the end.

I chose a restaurant I had passed on previous wanderings, the reconnaissance somehow providing a sense of security in the familiar. Then, armed with Woolf’s The Voyage Out (embarrassingly symbolic looking back now), I walked in. That part was surprisingly easy, and “Just one please” wasn’t difficult to say. But sitting down and scoping out the room, I felt awkward. I was terribly conscious of being young, female, and American, but mostly, I was conscious of being on my own while all the other diners were not. The lights were dim and the waiters were kind, but still, here I was out to dinner alone.

I ate a bowl of mushroom ravioli and drank a glass of red wine, the cheapest on the menu. And I know I read my book, or tried to, missing sentences and having to go back to re-read paragraphs – again and again – because my awareness of sitting there by myself was simply too strong. I couldn’t relax and forget my surroundings, and I imagined if anyone had bothered to notice me, they would have known this.

This memory comes back years later and many, many enjoyable solitary meals behind me, because of a woman I saw the other night. In New York you see people eating alone everywhere, from the corner dumpling shop to the most elegant restaurants. And, with the popularity of bar seating, more than ever you see people eating by themselves while idly reading a newspaper, or more likely, talking on a cell phone (which does not count as eating alone in my book).

But this young woman caught my eye. She came into this fashionable, casual restaurant, ordered a glass of wine, and drank it while eating a plate of prosciutto and cheese. She ate quickly, and glanced around often, a bit anxiously. She seemed distracted. Watching her I thought it might be her first time as a solitary diner.

…The truth is eating alone is a treat. Now, when I’m in my chair or on my stool, menu in hand, I get to think about what I’m going to enjoy eating and drinking all by myself, ponder what I’m going to think about or read that I haven’t had time for, and wonder, why I don’t do this more often?”

A foto é de Anton Kawasaki, que faz fotos lindas de pessoas na rua, no metrô, no ônibus, na fila e comendo na rua.

Anúncios