Eating Alone at Esca
Yesterday, the rainiest of days, I escaped to Valparaiso. You know the feeling when your city starts to feel small—too small? Maybe it was the heavy clouds, or the fact that for the past thirteen months, I have worked, shopped, dined, and socialized within a few square miles of my apartment. Whether the weather or the whereabouts of my daily existence, I decided to drive an hour through the country to this little town and spend my day at Dagger Mountain Coffee Roasters.
If you have not yet visited DMCR, go. I have been once before, an average Tuesday in November, and was surprised to see every seat occupied despite being tucked away in a drab industrial park several miles outside of town.
Location matters—until it doesn’t.
Rounding the building, I instantly noticed that not a single lightbulb in the place was illuminated. “Dang, it!” I muttered, the words echoing through my empty car as I scanned a “Closed Due to Power Outage” sign posted on the door. Lesson learned: check Instagram before driving over an hour to a coffee shop.
Disheartened but undeterred, I found my way to FLUID Coffee Roasters, ordered a cortado, and sunk into a cozy leather chair as I made some mental notes:
$3.50! That’s the cheapest I’ve paid for coffee in a long time.
Valpo must have more coffee shops per capita than South Bend.
Okay, this is a fantastic cortado, and the presentation is perfect.
Why, WHY did I choose a chair next to the door in the middle of winter?
Mental notes noted, I dove into my stack of books.
Since the turn of the year, I have marked Wednesdays as a day to set aside client work and save space for creative input. With my work, input, as opposed to output, is an important practice. Rick Rubin in The Creative Act says:
“Nothing begins with us. The more we pay attention, the more we begin to realize that all the work we ever do is a collaboration. It's a collaboration with the art that's come before you and the art that will come after. It's also a collaboration with the world you're living in. With the experiences you've had. With the tools you use. With the audience. And with who you are today.”
I protect Wednesdays in order to practice paying attention. What this looks like lately is reading, walking, exploring, and taking photos. Oh, and eating. Definitely eating.
Which brings me back to Valparaiso…
Caffeine consumed and hours of reading logged, I was hungry for lunch. I was quite delighted to open Yelp and discover Esca, a small restaurant just around the corner. It was one of those love-at-first-sight Yelp listings. I knew immediately from simply the name, the logo, and the first couple of photos that this place was meant for me.
I was right.
In fact, I think it was literally meant for me—just me. I spent over an hour in the cozy little restaurant and not a single soul entered or exited. It was all mine. The low-hanging bulbs, the dark hexagon tile, the wall-sized window framing the rain. The chef and prep cook skillfully chopping, the server, kind but brief, and the menu, front-and-back—all mine.
Do you like dining alone? I do, occasionally.
This was a new level of alone. I was happy for the company of a book and the nostalgic playlist of indie hits from my late teens, a period of life when music embeds itself forever into your soul. Esca must have crafted the playlist when the universe called to tell them I’d be coming, alone, for lunch.
A pint of French press coffee drank, a plate of the most luscious carbonara consumed, the $29 bill—appropriate—paid, and I was out the door. It’s surprising the nuances you see, hear, smell, and taste when you pay attention.
An hour later, back in South Bend, my city still felt small, even smaller than before. But in a good way.
I like being alone—until I don’t.
