Dating when dinner is the date

Dear You,

Every first date I’ve been on in two years has involved food. Coffee counts. Drinks count, because drinks arrive with a menu. Dinner is the standard. And I have the appetite of a polite houseguest, which makes “let’s grab dinner” a slightly more complicated sentence than it used to be.

Here’s how I handle it. One gay man’s field notes, not a dating manual.

Picking the place

I suggest the restaurant when I can. Not to control things, but because I know which places work. Small plates are the dream: nobody notices who ate how much when there are six dishes in the middle of the table. Tapas, dim sum, izakaya, mezze. A good wine bar with snacks.

I avoid the places with one enormous entree per person and a server who comes by to ask if everything was okay because you left most of it. I also avoid anything with a tasting menu on a first date. Eleven courses is a commitment I’m not ready to make with a stranger.

If they pick the place, fine. I look at the menu beforehand so I’m not deciding under pressure with someone watching.

What I order

An appetizer as my main, or a soup and a side. A starter-sized portion of something with protein in it. If the only option is an entree, I order it and eat what I want and take the rest home. I’ve stopped apologizing to servers. “I’m done, it was great, can I get a box” is a complete sentence.

I eat slowly and I talk a lot, which is good for a date anyway. Nobody has ever counted my bites. The only person counting was me.

When I mention the medication

Not on the first date, usually. Not because I’m hiding it. Because a first date is for finding out if I like how they laugh, not for a medical history. If someone asks why I’m not eating much, I say “I’ve got a small appetite these days” and move on. True, and enough.

By the third or fourth date, if things are going somewhere, it comes up naturally. “I lost a lot of weight a couple of years ago and I’m on a medication that helps me keep it off. It means I eat like a bird. You’ll get used to it.” Most people say “oh, cool” and ask one question. Some say “me too.” One person said “that explains the box,” and we’re still friends.

The ones who get weird about it have told me something useful early.

The person who ordered dessert for both of us

Second date. A place I didn’t pick. He ordered dessert without asking, “one for each of us,” and two slices of chocolate cake arrived. The old me would have eaten the whole thing to be polite and felt sick on the walk home. The new me took three bites and said, “That’s about my limit, but it’s really good.”

He looked at the plate. Then he looked at me and said, “Can I have yours?” And he did. He ate both slices and talked the whole time about his sister’s wedding.

We didn’t end up together. But I think about that moment a lot, because it was the first time I let someone see the small appetite without a speech attached. I just said what was true and the evening went on. Cake got eaten. By someone who wanted it.

What I’d tell you

Dating with a quiet appetite is mostly a matter of not making it the headline. You pick a place where small is normal. You order what you’ll eat. You say “small appetite” and leave it there until someone has earned the longer version. And when dessert shows up uninvited, three bites and the truth is a perfectly good order.

Want to tell me something? Reply to any Low Volume email, or write to me here. I read everything.

Getting Quiet shares lived experience, general education, and practical tools. For medical decisions and individual treatment questions, talk with your qualified care team.