Table for one: the quiet joy of eating alone in Japan

In some parts of the world, asking for a table for one comes with a little flinch: the pitying glance, the table by the kitchen door, the second place setting whisked away. In Japan, that flinch has nowhere to land. Walk into almost any ramen shop at lunchtime and you'll find a row of people eating alone, side by side, perfectly content.

For a solo traveller, this is one of the great freedoms of the country. You can eat where you like, when you like, and nobody will think twice about it.

A country built for one

Look at the shape of a typical ramen shop and you'll see it was designed with the single diner in mind. The heart of the room is the counter: a row of stools facing the kitchen, sometimes with a few small tables behind. You sit, you watch the cook work, and your bowl is passed straight to you.

The same goes far beyond ramen. Beef-bowl chains, curry counters, set-meal shops, conveyor-belt sushi and many izakaya all have counter seats where eating alone is entirely ordinary. There's even a cheerful word for doing things on your own, ohitorisama (おひとりさま), a polite way of saying "a party of one" that has come to describe a whole solo lifestyle: eating, travelling and drinking by yourself, by choice.

When you walk in, staff will often ask nanmei-sama desu ka? (何名様ですか), "how many people?" Hold up one finger, or say hitori desu (一人です), "just one." You'll usually be shown to the counter, which in my view is the best seat in the house anyway.

Booths, blinds and order sheets

If the counter makes solo dining easy, Ichiran takes the idea to its logical end. The tonkotsu ramen chain, founded in Fukuoka, is famous for its individual booths, which it markets as "flavour concentration booths". Each seat has dividers on either side and a blind in front, so you can't see your neighbours or, for the most part, the staff.

Instead of talking, you fill in an order sheet. You mark your choices for things like the richness of the broth, the strength of the flavour, how much garlic and green onion you want, whether to add chāshū pork, how much of the chain's red spicy sauce to include, and the firmness of the noodles. The bowl arrives through the gap under the blind, the blind is lowered again, and you're alone with your ramen.

The idea, as the chain presents it, is that nothing should come between you and the bowl. Some people find it delightfully focused; others find it a little lonely. I think it's worth trying once, if only to notice how much more you taste when there's nothing else to do.

Standing up for soba

At the other end of the scale is the humblest solo meal in Japan: tachigui soba (立ち食いそば), stand-up soba. These small counters are found in and around train stations, sometimes right on the platform, and they exist for people with a few minutes to spare and a train to catch.

The routine is quick. Buy a ticket from the machine (our guide to the ticket machine explains how), hand it over, and your bowl appears within moments: hot buckwheat noodles in a soy and dashi broth, perhaps topped with kakiage (かき揚げ), a crisp tangle of tempura vegetables, or with sweet fried tofu for kitsune (きつね) soba. You eat standing at the counter, hand back the bowl, and you're gone. Some places have added a few stools, but the spirit is the same.

It isn't fine dining, and it isn't meant to be. But there's a particular pleasure in a steaming bowl at a station counter on a cold morning, shoulder to shoulder with commuters who are all quietly doing the same thing.

Tips for eating well on your own

• Sit at the counter. It's where solo diners belong, and it leaves the tables for groups. If staff point you to a seat, take it.
• Go a little off-peak. At the height of the lunch rush, shops are busy and turnover is fast. Arriving a little before or after noon gives you more room to enjoy your bowl.
• Travel light. Counters are narrow. Some shops have hooks or baskets for bags; otherwise keep yours on your lap or at your feet.
• Don't linger when people are waiting. Eat, enjoy, and give up your stool once you're finished. Our notes on ramen-shop manners cover the rest.
• Use the quiet. You don't need your phone to fill the silence. Watching the kitchen is half the show.

The pleasure of a bowl alone

I think there's something especially honest about eating ramen alone. No conversation to keep up, no one to wait for, no sharing to negotiate. Just a counter, a cook, a bowl that arrives too hot, and the few minutes it takes to finish it.

Japan seems to understand that a meal on your own can be a small act of care rather than a consolation. Take a seat at the counter, and let it be exactly that.