Adventures in ‘table for one’

But “table for one’’ is a loaded phrase - always a little sad-sounding, even when you’re not sad in the slightest - even if you are euphoric at the prospect of an hour alone with a glass of wine and a plate of good food. There’s a stigma attached to eating out alone, especially dinner in a decent restaurant. All those couples. All those conversations. What do you even look at when you’re in a restaurant by yourself?

I’ve spent much of my working life as a music critic, which means going out a lot at night, often by myself. Many of those nights involve having a meal before or after a show, and over the years I’ve become a rarity, especially among my female friends: a seasoned solo diner.

Dining alone can be all kinds of things: amusing, meditative, sociable. It can also be dull or, worse, discomfiting. The main thing is to avoid the nagging sense that you’ve got “Friendless’’ tattoed on your forehead. And the best way to vanquish self-consciousness isn’t to bury your face in a book or tap away at your PDA, tempting though it may be, but to engage. Be quietly bold with your eyes and ears. Wear your independence like a badge of honor.

It’s easy at the Monday Club Bar, the more casual of two dining rooms at UpStairs on the Square in Harvard Square. The room is a visual feast: odd, beautiful colors, mismatched chandeliers, and eclectic fabrics - and the staff is as warm as the decor. When I arrive on a recent weeknight, the bar is full. So when an amiable staffer (who I later learn is Matthew Lishansky, director of operations) asks if I want a table, I utter a variation on the loaded phrase.

“It’s just me.’’

“It’s not just you,’’ he replies, and promptly fixes me a killer Manhattan, with a dusky red cherry that bears no relation to the sweet neon balls that decorate lesser cocktails.