There are few greater pleasures in life than dining out. The table is set, the food is cooked by somebody else, filling the dishwasher is somebody else’s problem, and if you choose wisely, the food will be delicious.
But as anybody who has ever been seated next to a family screening Paw Patrol at full volume can acknowledge, the enjoyment of a meal can be quickly undone by the antics of fellow diners. Dining etiquette isn’t about starched napkins or memorising which fork is which; it’s about creating an environment that everybody can enjoy.
The Phone Call Offenders
Over a recent lunch in a perfectly lovely restaurant, the man at the next table decided it was the ideal time for a full-blown video catch-up with his bestie. Phone propped against his water glass, no headphones, and absolutely no sense of shame.
I didn’t say a word, quietly seething inside (cowardice disguised as politeness), but the meal was ruined, and sadly, I now know far more about his personal life than I ever wished to. Maddening doesn’t begin to cover it. By all means, take your call, but take it outside. The food will wait, and the rest of us will thank you.
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The Tablet Babysitters
Yes, raising children is hard. Yes, sometimes the iPad is the only thing between peace and pandemonium. But please, if you go down that route, bring some headphones – Peppa Pig’s nasal commentary is not conducive to an enjoyable meal. I love to see children in restaurants (sometimes), and I am aware that it can be challenging for parents (I’ve been there), but remember, their screen time shouldn’t be the soundtrack to someone else’s dinner date.
The Finger-Snappers
It’s difficult to believe that this is still a thing, but according to British chef Adam Handling, it’s still prevalent. To me, nothing says “I peaked in 1989” quite like snapping your fingers at a server. It’s rude, it’s lazy, and it’s completely tone deaf. Servers are hardworking professionals, not trained spaniels. If you can raise a fork, you can raise a hand. In general, the rule is to always be polite to the staff. I mean, why wouldn’t you?
The Scent Offenders
We all have that one friend who gets a little handsy and overzealous with the perfume as they rush out the door to meet you for dinner. Perfume, cologne, and body spray are all lovely in moderation, suffocating in excess. If your fragrance enters the room before you do, it’s too much and can have a distinct impact on other diners’ enjoyment of a meal. As my grandmother used to say, less is (sometimes) more.
The Prolific Poster
Guilty as charged – I mean, I’m not perfect. Sadly, my inner circle now instinctively leans back when the food arrives, trained to give me a clear shot instead of leaning in for conversation, as it should be. Unless it’s your actual job to capture the perfect image, resist the urge to turn dinner into a full-blown photo shoot. A discreet snap is charming, but rearranging the table into a makeshift studio is not. Eat first, post later – your followers (and your friends) will survive.
The Great Tipping Debate
And then there is the bill. If the service has been good and the staff contributed to make your experience a pleasant one, tip. It’s as simple as that.
The Passé
There is no doubt that the rules of modern dining have changed. In our parents’ day, screens at the table were not a consideration, but using the wrong fork? Mon Dieu! Personally, I have no issue with elbows occasionally resting on the dining table; however, I do draw the line at licking a knife (you know who you are) or using a napkin as a tissue. Waiting for everybody to be served before digging in? In the words of one of my good friends and regular dining companions, “Don’t let good manners ruin good food”. She is a wise woman indeed.
Corinna Hardgrave, restaurant critic for The Irish Times
My husband Steve, my most regular dining partner, knows etiquette is already half out the window. I order for him, we swap plates midway, and if there’s lobster, I tuck my napkin into my shirt and use a finger to lick the plate clean if the sauce is good – abominable to some, but to me just good eating.
Phones at the table? Always. Nobody touches a thing until I’ve got the shot – they’re the rules, I’m working.
What I won’t play along with are the phoney rules that ruin meals, such as not eating until everybody’s dish has arrived. In theory, civilised. In practice, steak goes cold while somebody else’s soufflé still hasn’t risen. Same with elbows. Rather than sit bolt upright with my arms clamped to my sides, I prefer to lean in and enjoy myself.
Then there’s the seating plan racket. You’re marched past a sea of empty tables and dumped by the loos or the service station. I once asked to move and was told, “Those tables are reserved, for people.”
“Yes,” I said, “we’re people too.” It took five minutes of awkward pleading, akin to negotiating a hostage release, before they let us sit on a sunny terrace with plenty of room.
And then there’s service charge. Since December 2022, Irish law has required that anything called a service charge must go to the staff – 100 per cent of it. Restaurants are required to display their policy clearly. Yet menus still mutter about “discretionary” service charge as though it’s compulsory, daring you to look mean-spirited by asking for it to be removed. I’m not saying don’t tip – please do, and generously – but I prefer to leave mine in cash.
Worst of all, truffle oil. It’s just rude to add it to food. By any fair reading of consumer law, it’s a misleading description: there is no truffle in it, yet menus are free to pass it off as though there were. It’s just oil, reeking with industrial flavouring – 2,4-dithiapentane, a sulphur compound related to formaldehyde – that makes the whole room smell like a service station forecourt after someone’s dropped a mushroom in a puddle of petrol. Dining etiquette should start with one basic law: no more truffle oil, anywhere, ever.
