I Battle Depression Every Day. Here's One Thing That Helps.

Table for One is a column by Senior Editor Eric Kim, who loves cooking for himself—and only himself—and seeks to explore solitude in its many forms.

I had always wanted to go to Maine. I once took a fiction writing course in college where a boy named Patrik, who was from Portland, Maine, sat next to me all semester. Tall, blonde, and lanky, he wore oversized green sweaters and had a smile as big as his face. He was a lovely writer. He’d catch me staring at him, wait for me after class, and invite me to parties where he and his friends would lug huge kegs of beer into the bathtub. Because he was from Maine, I’d always associated the state with his boyish charm, his kindness.