Why Are More People in Taiwan Dining Alone? The Popularity of 'Solo Gourmet' Reflects a Revolution in Family Structure

In the past, walking into a restaurant alone often felt awkward. When asked 'How many?' and replying 'Just one,' some people would instinctively pull out their phones, as if trying to appear busy so as not to seem lonely sitting by themselves. But now, eating ramen alone, having a solo hotpot, or sitting quietly in a café is no longer unusual. There's even a Japanese drama with no dramatic plot—just a middle-aged man, hungry after work, walking into a restaurant, quietly ordering, and quietly finishing his meal—that has been running for over a decade. That drama is 'Solo Gourmet.' Airing since 2012, its protagonist, Gorō Inokashira, has no wife to eat with, nor a group of friends for nightly gatherings. Most of the time, he simply feels hungry during work and starts searching for nearby restaurants. Then, he sits down and eats—alone. This simple, almost non-dramatic premise has not only remained popular in Japan but has also gained a large following in Taiwan. The fifth season in 2015 even filmed on location in Luodong, Yilan, and Taipei's Yongle Market. The original author, Masayuki Kusumi, later mentioned in an interview with Tokyo TV that the series is highly popular in Taiwan, with fans frequently recognizing the crew during filming. The question is: Why do we increasingly relate to Gorō? The answer may not simply be that the food looks delicious. If we view 'Solo Gourmet' through the lens of contemporary Taiwanese life, we realize that Gorō’s quiet routine of 'eating a proper meal alone' is becoming increasingly familiar. Because what’s changing isn’t just the number of single-person seats in restaurants. What’s truly changing is the shape of Taiwanese families. In the past, eating wasn’t just about nourishment. It was part of family life. In the more common multi-generational households, grandparents, parents, and children often lived under one roof. At dinner, one pot of soup, one plate of fish, and a few dishes would be placed on the table, with the whole family gathered around. Who started eating first, who sat where, who served rice to elders, and who cooked or washed dishes—all reflected internal family dynamics. That’s why Taiwan has such a strong culture of 'coming home to eat.' When parents ask their children, 'Are you coming home for dinner?' they’re not just asking about a meal—they’re really asking: Will you come home today? But now, that dining table is shrinking. According to statistics from the Ministry of the Interior, by the end of 2025, Taiwan had over 9.85 million households, with the average household size dropping to 2.37 people. There’s a crucial point in these numbers: while Taiwan’s total population continues to decline, the number of households keeps rising. Fewer people, but more households. This indicates that larger families are gradually splitting into more, smaller living units. As fewer people live under one roof, the table where everyone once gathered for meals naturally becomes harder to fill. What’s truly transforming Taiwan’s dining culture isn’t just 'young people not getting married.' When discussing solo dining, it’s easy to immediately think of singlehood, delayed marriage, and low birth rates. But the reality is far more complex. Some in their 20s leave their hometowns to work in Taipei, Hsinchu, or Taichung. Some married couples rarely eat dinner together due to different work schedules. Some start living alone after divorce. Some parents, once a family of four, now sit at a table meant for two as their children grow up and move out. Others, in old age, return to a solitary life after losing a partner. So, 'eating alone' is not exclusive to any one generation. It can happen to a 25-year-old office worker or a 75-year-old senior. According to Ministry of the Interior data, as of June 2025, Taiwan’s population aged 65 and above was about 4.573 million, with approximately 1.182 million living in single-person households—25.8% of the elderly population. That means about one in four seniors lives alone. Of course, 'single-person household' doesn’t directly mean actual solitary living, nor does it imply they eat alone every day. But it does reflect one thing: today’s families are no longer limited to one single form. Single-person homes, two-person households, single-parent families, childless couples, young workers away from home, and seniors returning to solo life in their later years—all have become part of everyday reality. Families haven’t disappeared. They’ve just stopped looking like they used to. And dining tables have changed along with them. Now, reconsidering Gorō—why don’t we see him as lonely? Looking back at 'Solo Gourmet,' there’s something interesting. Gorō always eats alone, yet viewers rarely feel he’s 'pitiful.' That’s because the show never portrays solo dining as a failure. Gorō doesn’t settle for an onigiri just because no one’s with him, nor does he rush through his meal in a corner. On the contrary, he takes it seriously. He stands on the street, deciding which restaurant to enter. Once seated, he carefully studies the menu, mentally weighing his options. When the food arrives, he observes the flavors and pairings—and sometimes, if a dish is too delicious, he orders a second helping. This isn’t 'no one to eat with.' It’s an adult’s moment of freedom—no need to ask, 'What does everyone want to eat?' No need to worry about someone who can’t eat spicy food. No need to drink with coworkers. No need to compromise on budget. Not even the need to talk. I’m hungry. I want this. So I walk in and eat. This may sound ordinary, but it captures a growing freedom in modern life: eating alone is worthwhile. What’s truly changing is how we view 'eating alone.' In the past, eating alone was often seen as an absence. No family, so eating alone. No partner, so eating alone. No friends inviting me, so I eat alone. 'Alone' seemed to imply: someone should be here, but they’re not. But now, solo dining carries a different meaning: I’m not 'unable to find someone.' I just want to eat by myself today. The food and beverage industry is gradually adapting to this lifestyle. Solo barbecue, solo hotpot, counter seating, single-person sets, and smaller portion dishes are becoming increasingly common. Convenience stores and supermarkets are also shifting toward smaller, individual-sized ready-to-eat meals. Now, when you enter a restaurant, it’s less assumed that every group is a pair, a quartet, or a family. This may seem like just a shift in consumption habits, but it reflects a deeper change in mindset. In the past, being alone required an excuse. Now, being alone can be a choice in itself. But has Taiwan truly become a 'lonely society'? The answer isn’t that simple. Because the rise of solo dining doesn’t mean Taiwanese people no longer eat together. According to data from the '2025 World Happiness Report' on global shared meals, Taiwanese respondents reported eating dinner with others an average of 5.5 times per week and lunch about 4.7 times—placing Taiwan among the top globally in shared meal frequency. In other words: more solo dining doesn’t mean the culture of shared meals is disappearing. Taiwanese people are living two dining lives simultaneously. On Sundays, they can go home and eat with parents. For a friend’s birthday, ten or more people might gather for a meal. Lunar New Year still means reunion dinner. But on a Tuesday, after working until 8 p.m., one can walk into a ramen shop and quietly finish a bowl of noodles alone. These two realities aren’t contradictory. What’s truly changing is that 'who we eat with' is no longer entirely determined by family status or living environment. You can enjoy company and also value solitude. You can dine with ten friends today and eat hotpot alone tomorrow. Eating alone no longer necessarily means loneliness; sitting with many doesn’t guarantee happiness. We simply have one more choice than before. What 'Solo Gourmet' truly captures isn’t loneliness. Gorō walks into an unfamiliar small restaurant and finds a seat. No one accompanies him. No special occasion. No one even knows what he ate today. But when the food arrives, he still eats it with full attention. That might be the most touching part of 'Solo Gourmet.' It doesn’t glorify loneliness, nor does it dismiss companionship. It simply portrays something once seen as 'unavoidable' as an utterly ordinary part of daily life. Eating doesn’t always have to prove a relationship. Sometimes, it’s just a moment set aside for oneself after a long day. And when we start thinking 'eating alone is no big deal,' what’s really changing isn’t just the number of single seats in restaurants. It’s our imagination of family, singleness, and solitude. Decades ago, a full dining table was often seen as a symbol of a happy family. Today, that table might seat just one person. They’re not necessarily waiting for someone. They’re not necessarily missing someone. They’re just hungry and want to eat a proper meal. And this seemingly ordinary act might be the quietest, most truthful revolution following changes in family and lifestyle.