In 2010, Tim Zagat waxed about his famous creation (no, not that one). “Back in 1992, when the late restaurateur Joe Baum and I dreamed up what we called Restaurant Week, we had no idea that it would become a national and international institution,” he wrote in the Atlantic. Originally designed as a stunt to entertain reporters and delegates in New York for the Democratic National Convention, he argues it lived on because it was a win for all involved. Customers get to eat at the best restaurants for an “affordable” (read: discounted) price, restaurants get tons of new diners, and the city gets to say its locals and tourists alike have a great time, and wouldn’t you like to come here and have a great time too?
When Zagat was writing, it was around the time I went to my first Restaurant Week dinner, at the now-closed 10 Downing, chef Jason Neroni’s first spot after stints at places like Chez Panisse, Spago, Blue Hill, and a dramatic exit from Brooklyn’s Porchetta. Looking it up now, the menu had all the recession-core hits — Brussels sprouts, organic roast chicken, grits, every part of the pig — but to be honest I don’t remember what I ate. Those were the days when a smartphone was still an extravagance, so I have no photo evidence to refer back to. What I do remember is feeling like a child who, after being tucked into bed, snuck back into her parents’ raging party in the living room. I remember noise, and warm light, and how being surrounded by fashionable people made me extremely aware of my Old Navy sweater. And mostly, I remember feeling that, now that I was in, I could belong here.
When Zagat was writing and I was dining, in the early 2010s, chefs and critics alike were hoping Restaurant Week would die. Some of their criticisms seemed fair. “The downside is that everyone who eats out that week is not turning into a regular customer. They’re just looking to get the deal, which they’re not getting but they think they’re getting," Philadelphia-based chef Marc Vetri, a noted Restaurant Week hater, told The Atlantic Cities in 2012. Other chefs argued that participating restaurants cut corners; the Institute for Culinary Education even suggests this on its blog, saying restaurateurs can “offer a lot of extra fries in exchange for one less ounce of beef.” (Do I not remember the meal at 10 Downing because of the haze of time, or because they served me something unmemorable?) Eater Seattle noted an apparently common practice of diners making multiple reservations for the same time and canceling at the last minute, creating chaos for restaurants. “You have to bring in extra labor, you gotta run two menus,” chef Mark DeNinno told Philadelphia magazine in 2013. “And then you just have to hope that they’re going to come back again when they’re not being offered discounted product.”
The issue that seemed to power this disdain wasn’t one of logistics; it was one of class. “‘Amateur eaters’ are seduced by the seemingly low prices and a desire to experience a high-end or new NYC restaurant. Thanks to them, wait times can stretch on, and service may lag due to the sheer volume of orders and tables,” wrote Business Insider in 2014. In 2012, Bloomberg said “amateur eaters” were one of the main complaints, and a few years later the Washington Post used the same phrase to describe people who tip poorly and “crowd out regular customers.” These amateurs were a drain on the experience of “real eaters,” whatever that means, on the entire, and very serious, work of a restaurant. Who would want to participate in catering to them?
When Zagat was writing and I was eating and chefs were complaining, I was an amateur eater. Now, I’ve been a pro for at least a decade. And either as a side effect or direct symptom, I’ve stopped going to Restaurant Week. It was not a conscious decision, but I admit the more restaurants I ate at outside of Restaurant Week, the more I assumed the worst about the experience of Restaurant Week. I figured my experience would be more “real” if I went during regular service, and that the food would be a better representation of the restaurant when the servers weren’t laden with some gimmick. I internalized the idea that to order a Restaurant Week menu was to appear as a restaurant amateur.
(It also could be that during a Restaurant Week meal at an Upper East Side restaurant with a very famous chef, I got bed bugs, but that was the summer of 2010 when everyone in New York got bed bugs, so I can’t hold it against them.)
“Amateur eater” is a blatantly ridiculous thing to call someone, as if “being good at going to a restaurant” is a real skill. It was silly at any time, and is more so now that more people are finding it out of financial reach to eat out. But almost 35 years after the first Restaurant Week, not all chefs and critics are such snobs about it. In fact, Restaurant Week, as a concept, is thriving in all 50 states, some with multiple Restaurant Weeks a year. There are Restaurant Weeks that celebrate the cuisine of the city, but also things like Black Restaurant Week, Dine Latino, or even French Restaurant Week that focus on supporting restaurants and restaurant workers of specific communities. Some even raise money for charitable causes. Despite the haters, Restaurant Week is here to stay. And it may be an antidote to all our dining woes.
Flour + Water, a San Francisco restaurant serving Northern Italian-inspired pastas and a $139 tasting menu, hasn’t always participated in Restaurant Week. But after SF Restaurant Week raised its price caps (dinner can cost up to $90 now), “we changed our minds about it, this is an awesome thing to participate in,” says Amanda Flores, the senior director of operations at Flour + Water Hospitality Group. With Restaurant Week came an opportunity to show diners their food is accessible and approachable — you don’t have to wait for a special occasion to dine in a nice restaurant.
Restaurant Week does require making changes to business as usual. Flores says designing a $90 menu required a little paring down, but was also an opportunity to show off Flour + Water’s hits, like scarpinocc with taleggio and balsamic vinegar, or the chocolate budino. “If somebody hasn't been in previously, let's show them what we do best,” says Flores. But mostly, Restaurant Week is good for business. The shorter tasting menu also allows the team to serve more tables. During normal operations, the restaurant serves about 15 to 20 tasting menus a night; during the 10 days of Restaurant Week, they serve around 30 to 40 a night, easily bringing in a higher profit and hopefully return customers.
“Amateur eater” is a blatantly ridiculous thing to call someone, as if “being good at going to a restaurant” is a real skill.
The week can also be used to bring back the customers a restaurant already has. Missoula, Montana’s Downtown Dine Local Week comes at the end of January, which Eric Simmons, general manager of Plonk, says is the slowest time of the year for the city’s restaurants. There aren’t many tourists in the dead of winter in Montana, so instead of trying to attract new customers, it serves to get regulars back in the door. “It gets our name out there and reminds everybody, hey, you guys can still go out this month,” he says of the notoriously freezing and snowy season. The hope is that the name recognition built during Restaurant Week carries over into warmer, busier seasons.
But even if the money isn’t great, many restaurants participate in Restaurant Week to bring the experience of fine dining to diners who typically can’t afford it. “We are actual advocates and proponents of Restaurant Week,” says Courtney McCullough, the general manager of Crown Shy, a Michelin-starred restaurant in downtown Manhattan. She notes the late founder, chef James Kent, wanted Crown Shy to be accessible to as many New Yorkers as possible, and that the Restaurant Week menu tends not to differ much from what’s on offer year-round. “I think people are able to see they’re getting their money's worth here, and not feeling slighted by being offered a discounted menu,” she says. That’s because instead of using it as a way to flip more tables and bring in more money, Crown Shy builds Restaurant Week into its annual budget, so whether they profit or not, they know they can participate without worry.
McCullough says the popularity of New York’s Restaurant Week ebbs and flows among diners, but one thing she’s noticed is that the “amateur” diners other chefs gripe about aren’t who’s coming in. “The expectations of the guests are a bit higher than I've seen in years past, which I think is a good thing,” she says. “I think it’s a clear indication that there are a lot of restaurants that don't want to cheat their guests…it’s no different from guests coming in outside of Restaurant Week.”
When Zagat was sold to The Infatuation, which was then bought by Chase bank, and I was starting a worker-owned co-op, and chefs were coming back around to Restaurant Week, I had the time to wonder why those chefs chose the word “amateur” over any number of veiled insults. An “amateur” is someone who doesn’t know but who wants to find out. In the decades since Restaurant Week launched, the baseline food and dining knowledge of the average American has skyrocketed. Food Network, Top Chef, Instagram, Yelp and TikTok all allow anyone with a television or a phone and even the most cursory curiosity to become an expert in omakase or know about the “secret” chicken parm at Carbone. There’s no such thing as an “amateur” anymore, at least when it comes to knowing what’s on the menu.
The tools to act on that knowledge, to tell you which restaurants you might want to go to to flaunt these skills, are now more often than not social media algorithms, whether that’s an influencer’s Instagram posts or lists served to you by Resy when you Google “caviar happy hour.” The algorithm creates a feeling that everyone is always trying to get into the same five restaurants in any given city, and ignoring the rest of what it has to offer. On one hand, Restaurant Week is just another list, but it’s a list of places that aren’t driven by the buzz of food media and the whims of (or paying for) influencers. It’s just… places that want you to come eat.
I wanted to test if Restaurant Week would be a balm for the influencer-driven race to go to the absolute newest, absolute coolest place. There are 607 restaurants participating in New York Summer Restaurant Week, which actually lasts six weeks (a lot of Restaurant Weeks are basically Restaurant Month at this point). I attempted to approach the list as I did in my early 20s, on the lookout for a place that seemed exciting but too expensive for me to afford on a regular night. Of course, my accumulated knowledge of years in food media crept in — but I tried to stay as open as possible. What sounded good? What felt like a deal? I landed on a $60 dinner at Nudibranch, a Korean-Spanish restaurant which was heralded on its opening in 2022 and is still well-regarded, though reservations were readily available. And $60 for a four-course meal seemed like a bargain at a place where larger entrees run around $45.
Much of the restaurant week menu was made up of hits from the regular menu, just in slightly smaller portions. The signature frog legs with lemongrass and galangal were served as a two-piece instead of four, the soba alla bottarga offering the uni as an add-on instead of included. But the soba was plated with just as much care as anyone else’s plate, the frog legs just as fragrant. I felt like I understood what the restaurant was about. And halfway through our entrees of arroz negro with cuttlefish and a frankly massive fried chicken sandwich with Korean buffalo sauce, we realized we were incredibly full. What a treat, to feel like we had gotten the whole experience at half the price.
I did not see any amateur diners. How could I have? Given the similarities in the menu, it wasn’t obvious who was a restaurant week diner and who wasn’t. All I saw were a foursome behind us doing shots of soju, friends gossiping as they spooned each other’s desserts, a group of business bros exaggeratedly tasting their wine. My wife and I vowed to return the next time we felt like splurging. If the goal of Restaurant Week was to introduce diners to the best their city has to offer, mission accomplished.
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