What is your favorite restaurant?
A Table for One, A Feast for the Soul: My Favourite Restaurant

The aroma of memory is stronger than that of any spice.
Ask a gourmand, a traveller, a wanderer of both palate and path — “What’s your favourite restaurant?” — and you’ll see their eyes light up with a mix of nostalgia and hunger. For me, the answer lies not in a Michelin-starred hall or a bustling food court in a neon-lit mall, but in a quaint, almost monastic establishment tucked away on an old street where time saunters, not sprints.
The Charm Beyond the Menu
My favourite restaurant is not just a place to eat — it is a sanctuary where time slows, and senses awaken. Walls lined with old wood, echoing with hushed laughter and the clinking of cutlery; waiters who remember your preferences without pen and pad; and a menu that refuses to surrender to modern gimmicks — this is a place where tradition simmers gently, like a grandmother’s pot of stew.
The food? Divine, of course. Not ostentatious, but honest. Each dish is a conversation — between heritage and innovation, between soil and soul. The kind of fare that takes you on a culinary pilgrimage, much like walking barefoot to a shrine of comfort and recollection.
Philosophy on a Plate
There is a philosophy that underpins the experience. In an age where food is often reduced to content for social media, my chosen retreat offers nourishment in its truest sense — for the body, mind, and spirit. It follows the wisdom of the ancient Epicureans who believed that pleasure, when pursued wisely and with moderation, leads to a tranquil life.
I often recall the Indian philosophical principle of Annam Brahma — “Food is Divine.” It is not simply a means to quell hunger, but a celebration of life, a ritual of gratitude. This restaurant embodies that sacred approach. There’s a spiritual stillness to eating here, a rhythmic dance between the simplicity of a meal and the complexity of existence.
An Ode to Solitude and Reflection
Though I’ve dined there with acquaintances and friends, my most cherished visits have been solitary. There’s a peculiar strength in eating alone, not out of loneliness but out of companionship with oneself. As the poet Rumi once wrote, “Be like a tree and let the dead leaves drop.” This place lets me shed the noise of the world and retreat inward.
The corner table, by the frosted window that opens to an old fig tree, is my usual spot. I sit there with a book, or a notebook, or sometimes just silence — and allow the flavours of the world to find me.
What Makes It “The Favourite”?
It is not the price of the dish, nor the popularity of the chef. It is the feeling of coming home — not to a building, but to a state of being. A place that respects your appetite as well as your anxieties. A restaurant where the meal is only half the experience; the other half is peace.
The idiom “The proof of the pudding is in the eating” holds true here, but I would add: “The soul of the pudding is in the remembering.”
Final Course
In this restaurant — my favourite, my secret temple of taste — I am not a customer. I am a seeker. I arrive not just hungry, but yearning. And I leave not just full, but fulfilled.
Wherever life may lead me — through alleys of anonymity or avenues of acclaim — I carry this place within me, like a well-worn bookmark in the story of my life.
So, what is your favourite restaurant? Perhaps it’s time to go back — not just to the taste, but to the feeling it gave you.