Why Is It So F-ing Hard To Get A Reservation These Days?

New York is in the throws of a deep, dark reservation recession.

Dramatic much? Maybe. But you know we're right!

Good luck to you finding a last minute (read: anything within 3 weeks of your chosen date) semi-desirable spot to dine out on a Friday or Saturday or even a Tuesday or Wednesday in this town! Resy, OpenTable, Tock - they're all wastelands, nary an outdoor table free for the taking. And how could that be?

Sure, post-pandemic people are ready to be out and about and well-fed, but we seriously doubt it's the demand that's changed all that much in recent years.

No, instead it's the rules of the game that have changed. Rules which once valued courting an establishment, familiarizing yourself with the staff to achieve that all-important "Regular" status, have now given way to a wild landscape of hoarding and poaching...

Enter the age of the Reservation Monetization Complex.

On Dorsia, an "exclusive" "members only" app that allows restaurants to list their reservations for a price, the privilege of a prime team 7 o'clock seat at Carbone will cost you a $500 per person minimum spend. Even Little Prince, a restaurant I think we can all respectfully agree (though charming it still may be) has seen trendier days, will run you a $130 per person minimum spend. And that's before tax and tip.

Restaurants obviously need to make money, no argument there. But there's just something about this upcharged pre-transaction that seems very inhospitable, no? A bit, opportunistic?

Well, it should come as no surprise that people have started fighting fire with fire.

On Appointment Trader, people can scalp their reservations to desperate diners. Sellers might be your common restaurant goer who somehow landed a reservation, only to find they can no longer make it, or perhaps they're a new breed, the type who spend their free time crawling cyberspace as a side hustle, picking up tables for two and four with the sole goal of reselling them. 

Just this week a user got busted on the Chinese app Little Red Book for running an upscale reservation ring, creating multiple accounts and stockpiling a substantial collection of reservations at Michelin-starred restaurants like Le Bernardin and Yoshino, turning around to sell them for an impressive markup - nearly $700, just to book a spot.

These days, you're watching a hostess write your name down on the third page of a waitlist just to humor you, you're sitting around on standby with your trigger finger at the ready hoping to be the first to pounce on an email saying that a table has opened up, or you're going old school and calling, I don't know, let's say Balthazar, to see if they've anything available. You're just a plebeian, so of course you don't have their VIP line to ring. When the reservationist answers, she'll ask your phone number so she can officially confirm in their system just how unimportant you are before delivering the "I'm so sorry, unfortunately..." that you both knew was inevitable from the start.

Of course cash has always talked in the world of hot spots and foodie favorites. Maitre D's make a living off of their grateful smiles and discreet sleight of hand. But the game is no longer getting the best table in the house, it's getting any table at all.

Lately, when I find myself by some miracle out to eat at a normal hour in a desirable location, I can't help but feel the urge to ask all of the tables around me how the hell they managed to get here? 

Who do they know? What did they do? How much did they pay? 

And perhaps most importantly, was it worth it?

I’m just a hungry girl, looking at a computer screen, asking it to give me options.

[Photos via @lavenueatsaks, @kiernanshipka, Le Bernadin]