It is not exactly the end of civilization, but I love a little indignation when it comes to modern eating habits. Nowadays, if you even suggest that a restaurant may have to protect itself against delicious no-shows, expect a stream of indignation.
Yet here, with more and more settings, we are enough to charge a fine of £ 50 for late cancellations or for those miserable souls who can’t bother to call and say: “Actually, I will not fill my face with your pigeon breast on a bed of wilted spinach tonight.”
You cannot blame the restaurants. It’s not just about empty tables; It is about wasted food, wasted wages and the calm despair of managers who see their perfectly orchestrated evenings go wrong because of last-minute flakiness.
The principle is simple: if you think about it, you would not hire a personal trainer for an hour and then casually forgot to appear without consequences. You would not book a hotel room, not check in and then be stunned by a load. And yet for some reason people seem to believe that the hospitality industry simply has to roll with any wave of whimsical indecision that washes over his customers. “We don’t want to bind,” people cry, “we are way too busy with spontaneous, fleeting, oh-so-instagramming experiences.” Indeed. But that fleeting contempt creates tangible damage for restaurants that, for all shiny PR, still survive on tight margins, bring precarious overheads overheads, and the vague hope that the correct number of paying customers arrives every night.
The truth is told, the charging of dinners a down payment or cancellation costs are long too late. It is also not only the chic places in Michelin star who accept this approach. Even modest local bistros, who used to rely on goodwill and the confidence that if you booked, you actually showed up, now look at ways to ensure that they do not withhold the baby – an empty table and an employee who turns their thumbs. Some gamblers nag that it is “greedy” to take a down payment, but it really isn’t. It’s business. And it is a company that is battered by lockdowns, rising energy costs, staff shortages and now a wave of dinners who suddenly decide instead that they feel like the pub instead – or, forbid heaven, an evening of Netflix on the couch with a pick -up meal.
Here is the rub: restaurants simply cannot go on goodwill alone. And so, a fine of £ 50 if you don’t pop up or cancel in a decent time, the difference can be between a chef who uses a junior sous chef or lets them go. A table of four, that is £ 200. Multiply that with a handful of no-shows on a Friday evening and you can see how quickly income evaporates. So, if you have the habit of last-minute cancellations, be warned: you will soon come up with a good price tag.
Of course there is also a new food challenge that is lurking, one that has encouraged restaurants to be fully worried about something else: Ozempic. Although the more superficial among us might see it as the shiny new weight loss drugs beloved of Hollywood stars and fashionable city dwellers, restaurant owners begin to experience the impact, a turnover loss of 30%. For non -ingwrden, Ozempic is an injectable medication that helps to curb appetite. The logic is simple enough: if you eat less, weigh less. But if you eat less, restaurants have fewer starters, main courses and puddings to shift. A few slender customers may sound like a dream for some, but the truth is that if your clientele chooses half a fillet of cod and for a dessert, your margins start to shrink like a neglected soufflé.
Yes, I hear the cynics among you. “You can’t blame the debt,” you could say. But restaurant owners, who are already operating in a culture of short-lived bookings, fickle dinners and last-minute cancellations, also struggle with the reality that even when dinners expect themselves, they might only enjoy them in one course and tap before the Kaastrolley walks around. It is a small shift in habits, but in an industry that depends on extras – twisted combinations, side dishes, desserts – those small adjustments can add to the invoice.
So, in the spirit of trying to float, restaurants concentrate on the battles they can fight. If they cannot guarantee the size of your appetite, they can certainly be sure that you are popping up – or fine if you don’t. This seems honest to be honest, because in no other company you have to bow so dramatically for the grill of the consumer. If you want that Prime table at eight o’clock on Saturday evening at the most popular place in the city, you are perfectly entitled to it. You can absolutely enjoy the crispy linen, theatrical cocktail formation and the gastronomic artistry on your plate. But you must, must, must have the courtesy to make your reservation or cancel on time. If it all gets pear -shaped in your schedule, at least let the restaurant open that chair for someone else. That is called basic manners – although it seems to disappear nowadays.
Of course there will be people who cry that the restaurant industry ‘reacts exaggerated’. But if you have a brigade of chef chefs on staff, fresh products that will not sell themselves, and a legion of overhead costs, rely on purely faith in human decency. So a fine of £ 50 for a no-show? A deposit in advance? That is the least you can do to protect your livelihood against the most fickle among us.
It comes down to: if you consider yourself a civilized person, and you call yourself a “foodie” (terrible term, but that is another tier), then you should be perfectly prepared to record the phone or drop a fast text if you notice that you are unable to dine. Or, better yet, appearing as planned, hungry or not, damned by drugs, and support the artistry of these eateries that try to fulfill you so hard.
In a world that is threatened by flake and a new era of medically induced nibbling, let’s do the decent thing: before our promises, show some respect, and if everything else fails, be prepared to pay the bill for the inconvenience. Because at the end of the day that courtesy – such as the perfect soufflé – is worth protecting.