Reviving an Old Tradition

Sunday mornings I see dozens of amas de casa (housewives) shopping for food for their family's mid-afternoon Sunday meal. The main meal of the day in Mexico is always around 2 or 3, but seeing them shopping on Sunday, with their bulging plastic bags of food, always reminds me of how when I was growing up, we'd have our main Sunday meal during the day, after church.

Wanting to be in the rhythm of the community, I decided I too would plan a Sunday pot roast--metaphorically speaking. I don't eat meat, but I would cook a more elegant meal and serve it midday.

Yesterday I made a delicious--even more delicious than usual--and bountiful salad made with chard, tomatoes, zucchini, sliced onions, mushrooms, pasta, walnuts, goat cheese, olive oil and balsamic vinegar. I cleaned the dining room table, set a place mat, and poured myself a glass of wine.

I didn't mind eating alone. Ever since 1971, I've felt pretty comfortable eating alone, whether at home or in a restaurant, and going to movies and other performances alone. That was the year I was attending the University of North Wales in Bangor, and my friend Kim and I planned one Saturday evening to go see They Shoot Horses, Don't They? Before the movie we strolled down to the pier to eat fish and chips out of newspapers. "I've changed my mind," she said. "I don't want to go to the movie."

"But I do," I objected.

"Well, you can go," she said.

"By myself?"

"Sure."

Her confidence was so unambiguous, I thought, well, why not? Off I went to the movie theater and got so engrossed in the film, I didn't give my solitude a second thought. And I never looked back.

My Sunday dinner yeterday was a feast, as was the company. Me.