The cocktail is $20. The tin of sardines is $15. The bread is a course, and it’s $19. The salad is $24, the pasta is $28, and the steak—the steak is too much to even put in writing. “MP,” or market price, is a delicate matter, news best broken face to face by your server. When the bill comes, date night now adds up to anniversary night, and that’s before service charge and a tip.
You’re restaurant people. You voyaged your way through Michelin stars and ducked into many holes in many walls, you masked up to grab bagged cocktails and battled for the hottest of reopening reservations. You want owners to thrive and their employees to be well paid, but your grocery bill is a panic attack and your rent an existential crisis. This was a good meal. But you’re not sure when you’ll be back.
Since 2020 the cost of dining out has skyrocketed across the US, and even as other forms of inflation have eased, menu prices keep climbing. In 2023 restaurant inflation outpaced groceries, which meant that even as Americans were spending more dining out, data suggested they were going out less. If earlier in 2023 diners were still out for pandemic revenge, as the year wore on, belts tightened, and the vibes soured. Left-wing posters decried expensive fast food and Reddit wailed.
In more than a dozen conversations with restaurant-goers across the US, people said that price increases hadn’t shaken their loyalty to their favorite restaurants. If anything, supporting a beloved neighborhood mom-and-pop has become akin to a civic duty. But diners today are less likely to take a risk on a restaurant that they’ve never tried, and if the meal isn’t incredible, they’re unlikely to return. They’re more suspicious of hype and less willing to dine out on impulse. They’re looking for deals, and they’re splurging only when they’re confident a meal will be worth it. Everyone is jumping on the same reservations because disappointment is a luxury.
“It’s not as fun as it used to be. It’s not as carefree,” said Vanessa Carbajal, a Los Angeles resident who works in content, and who previously worked in the restaurant industry. “Now you feel a bit rushed. The vibes are different, get in get out, and nobody’s having a great time.”
The hesitation seems directed primarily at mid-level restaurants, the ones sitting between fast-casual and fine dining—especially ones with lots of traction on social media. Many diners described feelings of frustration and disappointment when nights out ended in big checks and uneven experiences. The cocktail was just ok, the food was something they could pull off at home, or the patio looked prettier on TikTok.
“Restaurants trying to be more social media friendly or social media hyped, it’s almost a contraindicator of how I choose places,” says Alyssa Tao, a Jersey City resident who works in tech. In Tao’s social circle, there’s a lot more meeting up at coffee shops, or cooking in people’s homes. “The height of the 2010s Michelin stars, the phase when everyone was trying to hit buzzy new restaurants—that sort of has faded out.”
Karen Tongson, the chair of Gender and Sexuality Studies at University of Southern California, describes herself as a dedicated restaurant-goer, but she too has been more skeptical about new spots. A recent night out in Silverlake involved so-so pork chops that were too small to fill even their shared small plate. “I have to say some really buzzy places that have received raves for food and atmosphere have disappointed me,” she says.
The chain restaurant experience has declined too, says Lex Washington, a professor and mom of three living in Stillwater, Oklahoma. She and her daughter always celebrate their birthdays at Texas Roadhouse for the fun of mechanical bull riding and free treats like ice cream and cake. “Now, there’s no bull, no cake, and a big old thing of ice cream is now a baby scoop and a bunch of whipped cream,” she says. “I don’t really want to go if you’re raising prices and I know you’ve got 100 locations across the US.”
There’s a myriad of reasons for the increasing prices. Ingredient costs have gone up, as have salaries, which many restaurants increased to compete for staff after pandemic shutdowns. Regulations squeeze from all sides, and commercial rents are market-defyingly high. Folks understand why they need to pay more to support the business model—so many restaurant lovers are spending their money at restaurants they believe in.
Washington says she prefers to eat at places in her small town, rather than travel to Dallas or Tulsa for a meal. “You know [the owner’s] name, and our kids go to school together,” she says. “I’m extra willing to go and spend my money there and really want them to survive.” Others have shifted their habits toward restaurants that advertise deals. Jen Zhang, who runs a food recommendations TikTok, says her videos about all-you-can-eat restaurants receive the most traction. “Some of the best-performing videos on my page are about buffets and all-you-can-eat because you can see value in it,” she says.
Multiple people also said they’re still willing to splurge, at least on one kind of night out: omakase. “Regular day-to-day dining has gotten so expensive for something sub par,” says Justin Kim, a Seattle resident who used to cook in restaurant kitchens and now works as a data analyst. But spending $150 to $200 on omakase? No problem. High-end sushi is defined by both simplicity and perfectionism, which means diners trust its quality and are unlikely to compare it to a meal they could have at home. Chanda Mau, who recently left the corporate world to focus on her pop-ups in Austin, TX, says she used to go to her favorite sushi restaurant, Tsuke Edomae, once a month, and has now cut back to once or twice a year. But she would rather spend all her money there than on many less expensive meals. “I’m very aware of my money and where I’m going with it.”
In fact, price increases might hurt higher-end restaurants less than everyday ones. Customers expect to empty their wallets there, and experience less sticker shock. Sam Weidert, who spent the past couple years as a server in a high-end steakhouse in Minneapolis, says that as prices rose, his customers rarely complained about the bill. “It’s either very wealthy people going there or it’s people going out for special events,” he says. “Both of those groups are expecting to spend money, or spending money almost feels good, in that scenario.”
As people cope with restaurant inflation by chasing only perfect meals, avoiding smaller disappointments adds up to a bigger malaise. The culture of dining out is imperiled, and those who care about food feel it keenly. “It feels really depressing to see article after article about every cool place in LA right now,” says Laura Dux, a student and a part-time server in Los Angeles. “I want to know what everyone’s doing in the scene.” But she can only afford to eat a nice meal out at her own restaurant, where she gets a 35% discount. “It feels like we've gotten to a point where if I don’t work there, I don’t know if I’m ever gonna try it.”
It’s possible that meals won’t get even more expensive. Restaurant prices may have peaked, at least in New York, according to Ryan Sutton, a restaurant critic who writes the newsletter the LO Times. He's been tracking price increases at restaurants, especially high end restaurants, since 2011, and recently he’s seen a few tasting menus drop their prices for lunch or even dinner. “If you see someone cutting prices, that means they probably overshot and want to get more people in the door,” he says.
Still, things may not get more affordable. He expects that many of the increases are here to stay, and that some restaurants will be permanently out of reach for most people. “No one is gonna lose an apartment because the price of a steak dinner goes up,” Sutton says. “But it means that an everyday gourmand who saves up can’t go to that place any more at all, and that changes the culture of what a dining room could or should look like. It’s a bummer.”