A few weeks ago, my enterprising Atlanta Journal-Constitution colleague Bill Torpy took on the topic of kids at restaurants and why some restaurants have a no-kids policy.
Among the people Torpy spoke with was Michael Benoit, owner of the Vortex, a bar with locations in Midtown and Little Five Points. Benoit commented about the extent to which some families can be disruptive at restaurants: “There are many parents who believe they can bring their kids anywhere they go and they have the right to let their kids behave any way they want,” he said. “It’s a feeling of entitlement. They feel entitled to impose their poorly behaved children on everybody else, no matter how annoying they are.”
I agree with Benoit.
But I don’t mind kids in restaurants in the least, as long as they are well behaved. It’s unfortunate that some restaurants will restrict entry to people over 18 years of age because some children make the dining experience less than desirable for other patrons.
So, where do families go when they want to go out? Some turn to a category of eating establishments classified as “family-friendly.” I wish that category would disappear (not the physical restaurants, mind you, but the category), as I think it might even contribute to the entitlement problem Benoit described.
The label “kid-friendly” or “family-friendly” implies that it’s the type of establishment that will keep antsy kids entertained. It’s not the job of any restaurant to be friendlier toward families than any other party. In fact, I could go further and say that the opposite is true.
Sure, it’s nice when eateries provide crayons and a paper place mat for kids to doodle on or when a server offers a lidded cup to help prevent a toddler’s orange juice from spilling on the floor, but those are courtesies and should never be expected.
When my sons, now ages 20 and 16, were little, my husband and I came armed and ready to keep our kids under control — whether with pen and paper, a book or by making real conversation with them. And, if one of the boys did get fidgety, either my husband or I would take him outside — even though what we really yearned to do was finish eating the food on our own plate while it was still warm.
I have a similar bone to pick with kids menus. If children always eat chicken nuggets or grilled cheese when they eat out, when will they graduate to roast chicken or saag paneer? Even worse is when parents tote along a PB&J in a zip-lock bag for their picky 7-year-old.
When I see these instances, I don’t take issue with the kid. I take issue with the parent — and not so much the parenting that they are doing at that very moment in the restaurant, but the parenting they’ve done before walking in the door. Taking kids to dine at restaurants requires training — both of behavior and of palate.
It was at the dinner table where my parents taught my three siblings and me social graces. If we chewed with our mouths open, we got a warning. Likewise for putting elbows on the table. If I made goofy faces at my brother Miguel in an effort to make him laugh so hard milk would come out of his nose, I had to sit on the stairs for the remainder of the meal. He’d suffer the same punishment if he kicked me in the shins under the dinner table.
We rarely dined at restaurants because it’s not cheap to feed a family of six. When we did eat out, we kids behaved. First, though, we had to go through some learning curves. I recall the time that we all piled into our Ford Fairmont station wagon and headed for dinner at a buffet-style restaurant called Heritage House.
The four of us children, smashed together in the back seat, began to squabble — probably over who got the window seat. Miguel might have pinched my arm just for kicks. Jose might have pulled Delphine’s ponytail. I don’t remember what we fought about, but it was enough for my mom to threaten that my dad would turn the car around if we kept bickering.
We kept bickering. My dad turned the car around, and we ate dinner at home. It was my mom who suffered most that night; she would have enjoyed a night off from cooking. But my parents never had to turn the car around again on a special family trip to a restaurant.
Easter is just a week away, and many folks in Atlanta will dine out for the occasion. The parade of Easter brunch press releases marching through my inbox began weeks ago. These brunches promise myriad food stations, eggs every which way, over-the-top tiers of cheese and chocolate, prime rib, sushi, bottomless mimosas, appearances from Peter Cottontail — even a petting zoo.
Possibly the most glitzy of all is the buffet offered by the St. Regis Atlanta Hotel. This extravaganza includes a Southern-themed station, a carving station, a raw bar and seafood display, a soup station and a free-flow mimosa bar. The cost is $145 per adult, $75 for children between the ages of 8 and 12, and $59 for kids between the ages of 4 and 7.
Do people really bring kids to this elegant brunch?
I called up the St. Regis and spoke with restaurant supervisor Chidi Ugoji. Oh, yes, Ugoji assured me, people really bring kids to this elegant brunch. “It’s a family-oriented Easter brunch,” he said. There are typically around 30 kids at the hotel’s Easter brunch, which includes arts and craft activities and an Easter egg hunt.
Moms and dads, whether you head to the St. Regis for brunch or somewhere much less expensive, don’t forget that other people are trying to enjoy their meal. If Missy and Junior begin to misbehave, quickly whisk them away.
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