The joy of solitude, especially when served with a scoop of creme fraiche ice cream

Some of the best meals of my life I've enjoyed sitting across the table from my family or dearest friends. From a homemade pizza or Emeril's banana cream pie to fondue or tapas, I'm a firm believer in the magical power food has to bring people together in one shared experience, made all the memorable by a generous helping of whipped topping and washed down with a tasty vino.

But most days, I eat alone. And while that may seem lame, I confess I actually really enjoy it.

When sharing a meal with friends, it is the people who captivate your attention (or should). The flavors and sensations of every bite can be easily lost in the distraction of a good dining companion and excited conversation.

So many nights I actually relish in the art of eating alone, when I can become fully present with my food, contemplating and savoring every bite in some sort of deep meditation.

Most evenings I perform this ritual in the privacy of my own home, dressed down in my comphies away from the judging stares of people who might wonder how a young woman ends up all by herself in a restaurant.

But tonight I dined alone in public.

I'm not sure exactly what prompted me do to this, except I guess it seemed like a good way to end an exhausting, frantic and all around crappy workweek. No need to go into the details, but we'll just say I got stuck late at the office three nights in a row, each night forfeiting better plans to pray at the altar of my editors.

I was all set to go to happy hour around 6 p.m., feeling cute in my hot pink shirt, skirt and heels and looking forward to a nice endcap to the workweek. But I never made it.

By the time I walked out of the building at 8 p.m., the happy hour specials had long run out and most of my friends were booked or retired for the evening.

I didn't feel like going home just yet, but didn't know what to do with myself. There was one thing I did have a handle on at this point: I was really hungry.

As I made my near weekly wine run at Whole Foods this crazy idea popped into my head: Why not go to Derek's?

For the uninitiated, Derek's is this cozy little gourmet restaurant in the Rosemary Court district of Sarasota. It's the kind of place where chicly painted canvases hang on the wall above wooden furniture covered in the most classic touch of restaurant style, white table clothes. The bottoms of the tables are even covered in soft, squishy foam so when one with particularly long legs goes to cross them during her meal she does not bruise them ...

But I digress.

It's the kind of place where the chef walks around the restaurant smiling at all his patrons and watching while his artwork dissolves in their mouths, covering their palates with his sensuous tango of flavors. Somewhere I read he trained with Emeril.

It's the kind of place I always want to go more often. But it's pricey - the entrees are all upward of $25 - and I usually can't get anyone to spring the cash to go with me.

I don't think the idea of going to Derek's by myself ever popped into my head, and if it did I probably brushed it aside right away to make room for something more practical. I always dreaded the thought of going to restaurants by myself to be pitied by all the happy families and bubbly couples. It always seemed better to save the money for a time I could go with friends and share the experience. And especially after a hard week at work, I'd always figure I was too tired to enjoy it.

But maybe I'm just getting old. Maybe more secure. Maybe I'm starting to realize that the days when I can go out and drop a decent wad of cash to treat myself - just me - to a phenomenal meal could be numbered. A friend of mine pointed out just a few weeks ago when we went out to eat "If we had kids think of how much this would cost us?"

How many people really have the luxury to go out and treat themselves to a three-course gourmet meal and be able to savor every morsel completely uninterrupted and free of the any guilt of not sharing it with spouse and/or children?

Perhaps this all dawned on me the last hour of my workweek, as I sat and pouted about missing happy hour and my co-worker fielded calls from his six-year-old daughter wondering when dad was coming home for dinner.

So when the idea to go to Derek's popped into my head, not only did I let it take hold I truly embraced it. (Besides, I was really good this week. I only went to Starbucks one morning and out for lunch twice.)

I went, I sat all by myself and I savored every morsel of food and every minute of the blissful solitude that came with it. And I laughed to myself - and somewhat pitied - the couple looking quite uncomfortable on some sort of awkward date, as well as the one taking pictures of each other across the table with their cel phones.

But none of that really matters. It was really about me and the food, all three courses.

I started with the soup of the day, a pureed celery root garnished with candied celery root and a blue crab salad. Chef Derek himself served it to me tableside, pouring the creamy broth over the elegant pile of crab meat. I immediately found comfort in the smooth, creamy broth, the savory flavor interrupted every so often by a sweet bite of candied celery or the tender blue crab. Every few bites I tasted something spicy, like dried chile.

I almost died when my main course of lamb shank dressed in cumin vinaigrette and some sort of date sauce arrived. The meat looked like it was just about ready to jump off the bone and into my side dishes of mashed chic peas and a cracked wheat salad. It met this fate as soon as my knife pierced the meat. I felt like I was eating the very best comfort meal anyone could ever find in the Mediterranean. At first my feelings were mixed about the cracked wheat. It had a very distinct texture like oatmeal and tasted, well, kind of wheaty. But as I worked through the rich meat and tangy chick peas I came to appreciate the contrast of the wheat salad, with bits of black olives, dates and onions in it.

By the time I shoved almost every bite on my plate into my mouth I was stuffed, but I had come way to far in this catharsis to leave it unfinished. The dessert menu arrived, and while I really craved the banana custard with ricotta doughnuts, something about the carrot cake called to me. Perhaps it was the idea of savoring one of my favorite childhood sweets, all gourmeted to the max and dolled up with creme fraiche ice cream that appealed to me.

I left the restaurant feeling full of good food and contentment.

Some people measure independence by one's ability to go through life not relying on other people for their own happiness. Maybe this was some weird step I needed to take, but never did in my years living by myself. To go out on my own and enjoy one of my favorite pleasures without having anyone to go with.

P.S. - This was actually the second time this week I ventured out to dine on my own, but my trip to Luna in Venice earlier this week didn't seem quite as ground-breaking. I just wanted lasagna. Maybe I'm on to something ...