Not all restaurant trends are bad, but some are more welcome than others. Jeremy King’s restaurants are known for their enduring commitment to proper service and a menu that doesn’t require a PhD in foraging to understand. Or St John, where a well-cooked piece of meat still inspires more awe than anything served on a slate roof tile.
Such bastions of dining understand the formula for success – feed people properly, treat them well and don’t mess with performance art too much. But oh, how many others have strayed from that righteous path. Here are a few new trends that need to stop…
The ubiquitous ‘snacks’ selection
Since when did we need a prelude to starters? Extra points if this section of the menu is headed by a cringeworthy ‘While you wait…’ explanation for what snacks are. These are not even starters in miniature – they’re tiny, overpriced bites that would barely satisfy a toddler. Now, these are not to be confused with the free amuses bouches that get doled out in fancier restaurants; who would really complain about a gougère served gratis with your pre-dinner cocktail? The issue here is where you have to pay £6 for a single, jewel-like olive or a “crisp” of some sort, the size of a postage stamp, as if the chef is doing you a favour by allowing you to nibble on what is essentially half of a canapé. At this rate, we’ll have ‘olfactory overtures’ where they’ll be charging us to sniff the sourdough starter before we commit to anything on the menu. Coupled with the increasing disappearance of starters, you are now encouraged to “graze,” to “nibble,” to “share” – all actions that sound light, dainty and guilt-free. The result? More profit per square foot, without the unpleasant optics of asking diners to hurry up. It’s only after the meal, when you’re out on the street, speed-walking to the nearest kebab shop, that you start to wonder if you’ve been had.
The elusive main course
I don’t understand why the main course had to give way to the merry-go-round of sharing plates. Communal dining can be a wonderful thing, but not when the seven small plates (made for sharing, of course) arrive all at once, inevitably on a tiny table clearly not fit for purpose, and everyone goes silent and weirdly territorial about them. I am familiar with the joys of Barrafina and many places alike, but having two sections of small plates (i.e. minuscule and small), I cannot help but think how such a concept is doomed to fail. This is nothing like the Italian ‘primi’ and ‘secondi’ affair, which is a perfectly reasonable way to lay out a menu and structure a meal. All this is just like a soufflé that never rises – all show and no substance.
Bread as a course
More recently, bread has been elevated to course status at many restaurants. Whilst I am yet to see “sourdough experiences” or “bread flights” of various loaves, each with a backstory paired with a series of butters, spreads, or dips, I have certainly seen bread being bundled in the section with seafood and meat, with a hefty price tag. Surely bread can be showcased in the most beautiful ways without this unimaginative, cheap tactic? Ideally, it should be free and replenished (as it is in France).
Cocktails served half-heartedly
Of course a restaurant is not a specialist cocktail bar and some element of pre-batching drinks is understandable, which is fine if the cocktail is fairly priced (for example the Brutto Negroni which is only £5). Certain bars specialise in carbonated drinks which may necessitate taps. But otherwise, serving classic cocktails on tap is just lazy and feels cheap. Bonus points if this cocktail is served in that short tubo tumbler glass, holding a massive ice cube and 500 µL of liquid with a symbolic ABV of 7%. They usually cost a fortune, too.
The latest pub opening that really is just a restaurant
The gastropub didn’t come into being because we all suddenly decided we fancied a bit of confit duck with our pint of bitter or realised that a leisurely Sunday roast at the local was a brilliant way to spend the weekend. It’s purely an economic product from the 90s, when breweries sold many pubs on the cheap, which were then snapped up by chefs who decided to slap on a bit of foie gras and call it a movement.
I am not saying that pubs should either be an old man’s boozer in the middle of the M62, or a gastropub in Hampstead, for they can be a continuum. But London openings are getting out of hand, especially with their illusion of the ‘local’ vibe. This just means being upsold an IPA by a barman who looks like a Kinfolk magazine cover model, and you have to wait 55 minutes for your truffle-infused heritage carrots.
What was once supposed to be a space for creative young chefs to experiment and thrive has turned into a factory of mediocrity where the only thing truly local is the disappointment you feel when you realise you’re paying Michelin-star prices for…well, a generic restaurant inside of a pub.
Many of these trends are slowly becoming pillars against which quality of a hospitality venue is measured. In the process of following or accepting these emerging trends, it is too easy blur the lines between authentic and contrived. Reinvention, in its most cynical form, can often feel like a distraction – a smokescreen for something lacking, and perhaps involve betrayal to the very core of what makes restaurants places that we love and come back to.
October 2024
Cover photo licensed by Adobe Stock
