But I've always kinda been partial to calling myself up on the phone and asking myself out, you know?  —Tom Waits, Nighthawks at the Diner

There's this yawningly annoying article on the Atlantic Wire about the joys of eating alone at restaurant bars. The thing that makes the article annoying is that it implies that one of the main benefits of eating alone at the bar in a restaurant is that maybe no one will notice what a friendless loser you are, you sad, sad solo-dining sack. Basically it takes this very apologetic air about going out to dinner alone—like it's this regrettable circumstance that occasionally cannot be avoided, so if you must take up knife and fork without the benefit of witty repartee with a fellow, eating at the bar is a great way to minimize the awkwardness of your socially bereft situation. 

For those who recoil at the thought of a solitary repast, I am here to tell you, solo-dining is the shit. 

Taking myself out for dinner is one of my specialties. It's an art, in case didn't know. You must put the same care into the endeavor as you would if you were stepping out on the date of your life. Your expectations of perfection should not be compromised just because you'll be the only one enjoying the fruits of your efforts. Here are my tips for how to achieve an optimal solo-dining experience: 

• Don't scrimp. You're having some valuable alone time, and you deserve better than a deli sandwich that you eat over the sink (though that has its merits too). Take yourself someplace nice, somewhere you know you can get what you're craving, and don't let price be an object (within reason, naturally). If there's a restaurant you've been dying to try, go there. Chances are you won't even need a reservation (solo dining benefit #1). 
• Dress yourself up. You may be going out alone, but unless you're breaking rule number one and getting a bucket at Popeye's, there's no reason you shouldn't make some small effort to look sharp. You don't need to dust off the suit or pull on the pantyhose, necessarily, but if you're taking yourself out someplace decent, look like you're into it. If you look great, any momentary awkwardness you may feel about flouncing alone into Bar Agricole or some such fancy-pants place on a Friday night will be mitigated by your obvious awesomeness. 
• Drink. Start with a cocktail. Have a glass of wine with every course. End with scotch, bourbon, port, sherry, whatever. This actually probably falls under the "don't scrimp" heading, but being a fan of excellent spirits, I had to make sure the point was made. 
• Read if you want, but you don't have to. I always roll up on solo-dining time with the New Yorker. But it often spends most of the meal off to the side while I eavesdrop and people-watch. It's just nice to know it's there if your fellow restaurant-goers are not suitably diverting. 
• TIP like a high-roller. You'll want to. The thing about dining solo, whether at a bar or at a table, your server will love you. You're kind, you're decisive, you ask intelligent questions about the menu and you're running up an impressive tab for a loner. As a former food service professional, I can assure you these characteristics are highly welcome and may even score you a free dessert or a glass of wine.

Spending a little quality time with yourself—and just yourself—is highly underrated in our hyper-social culture. And being really and truly alone—not digitally linked to every soul you know (or "know") via the myriad tools of connectivity that make this fantastic future-time we live in so awesome/annoying—becomes a commodity. When was the last time you went to a coffee shop and read a book, leaving your laptop at home? Taken a walk in the park by yourself—without your smartphone ready in your pocket? Okay, I've done neither of those things in recent memory, so kettle, pot, etc. But if ever you're looking for me on a random night where no other plans have surfaced, I'll be the one in heels and lipstick taking up a table for two in the window.