In my opinion there are three kinds of restaurants in this world: kid-oriented, kid -friendly, and kid-prohibitive. The following is my dining-out rubric.
Kid-oriented restaurants are places made for kids, Chucky Cheese, The Moxie Spot, the now defunct Park Slope location of Two Boots. How can you spot a kid-oriented restaurant? A substantial kids’ menu where broccoli is referred to as “trees,” any area designated as “stroller parking,” an available kids’ activity (video games, coloring books, live entertainment, animatronic or otherwise).
Kid-friendly restaurants are exactly that, happy to have you bring your children to their adult-oriented restaurant. These places may even provide crayons for drawing on paper placemats. They might have a small kids’ menu, or may be willing to just whip up some noodles with butter if the charcuterie plate doesn’t appeal. These places will have high chairs, but will also have candles on the table (watch out!). Here is what’s nice, most places in family neighborhoods are kid friendly before 7. After 7…
That leads us to kid-prohibitive restaurants. These people don’t want to know your kids exist, so don’t even think of walking in the door with them. This is not to disparage these establishments, I love going to kid-prohibitive restaurants. I love being in the presence of just adults. I love quiet, or general restaurant din that I am not responsible for. I love being able to taste my food and carry on a conversation that isn’t perpetually interrupted by having to retrieve a pony from under the table or the bottom of a water glass.
I’ve always wondered why some parents feel entitled to bring their kids to such establishments. Do they really not see the expressions on the other diners faces? It’s like boarding an airplane with a baby. Sure, I get it, you want to eat where you want to eat, but you are indulging your desire at the expense of everyone else’s enjoyment. Even in kid-friendly restaurants, if your kid is spazzing out or your baby is sun-downing, you’ve got to take them outside. So you can imagine the cringing and bristling that happens in a kid-prohibitive spot when kids lose it. I know some argue “babies cry, what ya gonna do?” You take them outside and if they can’t get their crap together you take them home. Yup. You don’t get to eat your entrée hot or even in the restaurant. These are the dice you are throwing when you choose to eat out with your kids, unless you choose a kid-oriented spot, in which case, let it ride.
My rule of thumb is if the restaurant has a hot hostess, if the wine list is entirely in another language, if there are table clothes, if there is a bathroom attendant (Jing Fong’s doesn’t count), if it’s over $50 a person for dinner or after 7, I don’t bring the kid. That way I’m adding to my positive date-night karma.
Sarah Moriarty is a writer, editor and adjunct professor. Sarah’s writing has appeared in such hallowed places as her blog, her mother’s email inbox, the backs of Value Pack envelopes and a waist-high stack of mole skin journals. In addition, Sarah has contributed to F’Dinparkslope.com, WhattoExpect.com and edited fiction for Lost Magazine. An excerpt from Sarah’s novel, The Rusticators, is forthcoming in The Brooklyn Writers Space 2013/2014 anthology, The Reader. A resident of Brooklyn for the last eleven years, Sarah lives with her husband, daughter and a dwindling population of cats. Check out more of Sarah’s work at sarahmoriarty.com.