It’s not exactly the end of civilisation, but I do love a bit of outrage when it comes to modern dining habits. These days, if you even suggest that a restaurant might have to protect itself from wanton no-shows, expect a torrent of indignation.
Yet here we are, with more and more establishments fed up enough to charge a £50 penalty for late cancellations or for those wretched souls who can’t be bothered to call and say, “Actually, I won’t be stuffing my face with your pigeon breast on a bed of wilted spinach tonight.”
You can’t blame the restaurants, really. It’s not just about empty tables; it’s about wasted food, wasted wages, and the quiet despair of managers who see their perfectly orchestrated evenings go awry because of last-minute flakiness.
The principle is simple: If you think about it, you wouldn’t hire a personal trainer for an hour, then casually “forget” to turn up without consequences. You wouldn’t book a hotel room, fail to check in, and then be taken aback by a charge. And yet, for some reason, people seem to believe the hospitality industry should simply roll with every wave of whimsical indecision that washes over its clientele. “We don’t want to commit,” people cry, “we’re far too busy having spontaneous, fleeting, oh-so-Instagrammable experiences.” Indeed. But that flighty disregard creates tangible damage for restaurants which, for all the glossy PR, still survive on tight margins, precariously balanced overheads, and the faint hope that the right number of paying customers walk in each night.
Truth be told, charging diners a deposit or a cancellation fee is long overdue. It’s not just the fancy Michelin-starred places that are adopting this approach either. Even modest local bistros, which used to rely on goodwill and the trust that if you booked you’d actually show up, are now looking at ways to ensure they aren’t left holding the baby—an empty table and a staff member twiddling their thumbs. Some punters whine that it’s “greedy” to take a deposit, but really it’s not. It’s business. And it’s a business that has been battered by lockdowns, rising energy costs, staff shortages, and, now, a wave of diners who might suddenly decide they fancy the pub instead—or, heaven forbid, an evening of Netflix on the sofa with a takeaway.
Here is the rub: Restaurants simply cannot bank on goodwill alone. And so, a £50 penalty if you fail to turn up or cancel in decent time might be the difference between a chef keeping a junior sous chef employed or letting them go. A table of four, that’s £200. Multiply that by a handful of no-shows on a Friday night and you can see how quickly revenues evaporate. So, if you’re in the habit of last-minute cancellations, be warned: your dithering might soon come with a hefty price tag.
Of course, there’s a new dietary challenge lurking on the scene too, one that’s prompted restaurants to worry about something else entirely: Ozempic. While the more superficial among us might just see it as the shiny new weight-loss drug beloved of Hollywood stars and fashionable city dwellers alike, restaurateurs are starting to experience the impact, a 30% loss in revenue. For the uninitiated, Ozempic is an injectable medication that helps curb appetite. The logic is straightforward enough: If you eat less, you weigh less. But if you eat less, restaurants have fewer starters, mains, and puddings to shift. A few svelte customers might sound like a dream to some, but the truth is if your clientele is picking at half a fillet of cod and forgoing dessert, your margins start to shrivel like a neglected soufflé.
Yes, I hear the cynics among you. “You can’t blame a drug for that,” you might say. But restaurateurs, already operating in a culture of ephemeral bookings, fickle diners, and last-minute cancellations, are also grappling with the reality that even when diners deign to arrive, they might only indulge in a single course and tap out before the cheese trolley rolls around. It’s a small shift in habits, but in an industry that relies on extras—wine pairings, side dishes, desserts—those little adjustments to the bill can add up.
So, in the spirit of trying to keep afloat, restaurants are concentrating on the battles they can fight. If they can’t guarantee the size of your appetite, at least they can be sure you’ll show up—or fine you if you don’t. This seems fair, to be honest, because in no other realm of business does one have to bend so dramatically to the whim of the consumer. If you want that prime table at eight o’clock on Saturday night in the city’s hottest spot, you’re perfectly entitled to it. You can absolutely enjoy the crisp linens, the theatrical cocktail-making, and the gastronomic artistry on your plate. But you must, must, must have the courtesy to keep your reservation or cancel in good time. If it all goes pear-shaped in your schedule, at least let the restaurant open that seat to someone else. That’s called basic manners—though it seems they’re in vanishingly short supply these days.
Naturally, there’ll be those who cry that the restaurant industry is ‘overreacting.’ But if you’ve got a brigade of chefs on staff, fresh produce that won’t sell itself, and a legion of overheads, relying on mere faith in human decency doesn’t quite cut it. So, a £50 penalty for a no-show? A deposit taken in advance? That’s the least you can do to safeguard your livelihood against the most capricious among us.
The bottom line is this: If you consider yourself a civilised person, and you call yourself a “foodie” (dreadful term, but that’s another rant), then you should be perfectly willing to pick up the phone, or drop a quick text if you find yourself unable to dine. Or, better yet, show up as planned, hungry or not, drug-induced appetite be damned, and support the artistry of these eateries that try so hard to delight you.
In a world threatened by flakiness and a new era of medically induced nibbling, let’s do the decent thing: honour our promises, show a little respect, and if all else fails, be prepared to pay the bill for the inconvenience. Because at the end of the day, that courtesy—like the perfect soufflé—is worth protecting.
Read more:
No-Shows, Ozempic, and the £50 Fee: Restaurants Have Had Enough
