Outdoor Dining Is Terrible
On the other end of the temperature-regulation spectrum is the literally chilling experience of dining outside, watching the sun go down, and feeling the temperature plummet in real time. What I’m saying is that I’m never the right bodily temperature when outdoor dining. Conversely, I’m almost always the right temperature when I’m inside a building, because that’s the point of buildings. Why sit outside and leave to chance what has already been perfected by science?
I could unfurl a scroll filled with qualities I hate about the outdoor-dining experience, but I’ll devote my energy to the absolute worst part. No earthly phenomenon ruins things quite like my archnemesis: the wind. Oops, there goes my napkin. Didn’t need that anyway. That fun story I was in the middle of telling, charming everyone with my comedic timing? Completely waylaid by a 25-mile-per-hour gust. And yet, there’s an obvious solution. Ask for a spot inside, where your date’s sundress isn’t threatened by the gales, and all the contents of your table remain where they should be, rather than tumbling down the grimy sidewalk. (By the way, I’m not a monster, and you shouldn’t be either. If your date wants to take things outside, always defer to them. But if this is just you and the boys going out to dinner, don’t be afraid to put your foot down, indoors.)
We haven’t even gotten to the bugs. Exposing your food to the elements is already kinda gross (and believe me, I’m the furthest thing from a germophobe—just ask the coworker who recently made the mistake of opening my AirPods case), but when insects are buzzing around, it only amplifies the feeling that I’m having tapas with Oscar the Grouch. If I wanted to get swarmed by mosquitos when eating, I’d just apply for a spot on Survivor.
If it’s not the fauna that’s the problem, it’s the flora: thanks to climate change boosting seasonal allergies, eating outdoors in 2025 is an itchier experience than ever before. Everything is coated in a visible layer of pollen dust. You’re telling me you want people sneezing to and fro in the same environment where beautiful crudo is being served? Not in my world. Not in the world I’m living in.
I’m well aware that most of you won’t agree with me on this. All I ask is that you look inward and consider the error of your ways. Do you really want to spend the next two hours perched next to a dumpster, or is it just 72 degrees? Are you yearning to be overloaded by stinky sensory distractions, or are you just in it for the vibey Instagram pic? To that point, if you want to be outside that badly, go for a walk! Organize a little park hang. Go see a baseball game, where there’s food anyways. There are plenty of better ways to get out in the sun that don’t involve downloading the Resy app.
Deep down, you know I’m right. So, this spring, as mediocre establishments with patios prepare to swindle us out of our hard-earned money, consider the humble indoor-dining restaurant. It may not have string lights or a neon sign hastily hung from some cheap, artificial wood, but you know what else it doesn’t have? Someone else’s weird dog. I’ll take a controlled environment where I know there won’t be any radical temperature shifts, swarming locusts, or unappetizing scents any sunny, beautiful day of the week.
