It’s no coincidence that my last name, Mesa, translates to “table.” I believe I was born to work in the hospitality industry, and my passion for hosting people was nurtured from a young age.
Growing up in the Dominican Republic with my maternal grandparents not only introduced me to an immaculate home but also a beautifully decorated dining table. My grandmother took pride in creating bright floral arrangements, polishing silverware, and making name cards with magic markers. She always had a smile on her face while doing these tasks.
Our table seated eight people, but it was always set for seven guests. I was confused and asked her why she did that. “I always leave an unmarked place setting in case we get a surprise visitor so that they can join us,” she explained. And someone always showed up.
I started hosting dinners
I spent my formative years between the Dominican Republic and New York City, but I always dreamed of living in California. Eventually, I decided to move to the city by the bay, San Francisco.
Once I settled into a routine and had some spare time, I realized I needed to make friends. That’s when I started hosting my “California Caribbean” themed dinner parties for out-of-town guests and startup businesses through a travel company. My journey began in July 2015, when I submitted a 30-second video showcasing my home and providing a brief explanation of why I would be a good host. I shared pictures of previous gatherings.
A week later, I received an invitation to “throw a demo event” as part of my audition. I passed the test. The idea of going to a stranger’s home to eat dinner may sound odd to some, but the communal table is not a new concept. During the French Revolution, the trend was “table d’hote,” where guests sat at a large table to enjoy a set menu with wine.
I met new people
There was an element of magic to the connections made at my dinner parties, where I hosted groups of people whom I normally wouldn’t have a chance to meet. Every guest was a surprise.
My perception of borders was torn, allowing me to cook and share stories with people of different nationalities, races, genders, and socioeconomic backgrounds. I did this for almost eight years. I have countless pictures of the groups, my table settings, and, of course, the food. However, my fondest memories are captured in my guestbook, where I have entries in over 20 languages, along with messages and drawings from guests expressing their excitement and gratitude for the experiences I created for them.
I moved back to New York
The aftermath of COVID not only restructured our world, but also our personal lives. It shone a spotlight on both the positive and negative aspects of the people closest to us, and I decided to end an almost 11-year relationship with my housemate.
Going back to New York felt like the best for me, so I could restart, refresh, and strategize my next steps. Settling back was like an earthquake going from west to east. I lived in a communal house to save money while interviewing for work. Most of my closest friends had moved to other states for relationships, work, or both. It was no longer my hometown, but my new home in New York.
The hardest part about moving back is what I call the “Obstacle Course of Getting People Together.” Every person is busy, and time waits for no one. Scheduling a meal with friends in New York City can feel impossible. This is when I confronted my fear of dining alone. I didn’t want to be perceived as “Pity, Party of One.”
I learned to love dining alone
When I made my first solo reservation, I made sure I was prepared with my “Me, Myself, and I Kit.” This includes the charger for my smartphone, two books, my journal, and my composition notebook, where I keep my to-do lists.
Eating alone can be a positive experience for self-reflection, mindfulness, and the pleasure of one’s own company.
Eating alone has taught me different things. For example, how to decompress — being around a lot of people can be exhausting.
I’ve also received the gift of self-reflection: the ability to stop, observe yourself, and examine the choices you’re making. And I realized the person who judges me the most is me.
I get to be productive when eating alone. I can map out all my bills, appointments, and goals I need to schedule, pay, and plan for.
When we share a meal with others, the pressure to conform to social expectations can be overwhelming. However, eating alone offers a unique moment to savor each bite of food at one’s own pace. It allows me to savor the mix of flavors and textures without the distraction of other people’s opinions, giving me the freedom to take as much time as I desire, because I’ve earned it and am paying for it.
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