Plating Privilege: When Small Plates Are Just Too Much

Rhea Willson

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I’m sure you’ve seen them. The graphic designers and bankers, pouring out of revolving doors in Marylebone and colonising local pubs with conceptual menus. These dim dining spaces that serve cheap chips, now offer jambon beurres pricier than a month’s wages. Picture their surprise when instead of a succulent sandwich, they receive a plate of olive oil, ham foam and a basil leaf.

They must be stopped.

The Small Plate Epidemic

Mimicking the sharing involved in tapas bars in Seville, the idea of small plates is, in theory, a good one. But what I fail to grasp is that anyone is forking out more than £2 for a plate of almonds. Pub owners in London have simply taken it too far, making eating out a status stand-off with Minty from HR.

“The performativity of the small plate experience pushes aside the authenticity of traditional recipes and generous portions”

Just like rental prices, small plate culture in London has been creeping in on us. As bar nuts are being gradually replaced with cheese and onion crisps, signs have started appearing. Neon signs stating #wellbehavedwomenrarelymakehistory popped up in pub bathrooms, sealing our fate. Slowly but surely, pub culture in London has morphed into watering holes for content creators and finance elites. Small plates are driving affordability into the ground, and with it, all the bloody good food.

But where, oh where, did the big plates go?

Gentrification

It is safe to say that no Queens Arms is safe from the shackles of Oliver Bonas candle holders and conceptual menus anymore. Although eating out is a privilege, I cannot help but notice that areas like Brixton have succumb to the pervasive nature of gentrification. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve payed £9 for a doll’s house portion of hummus that was basically just paprika and vibes. Oh, my almond mum would be proud.

But London has always stood the test of time as being a cesspool of multiculturalism. Walking down the streets of Camden six years ago, traditional family-owned restaurants were thriving. Yet, lately, I see businesses changing hands more times than I change my socks.

“Gentrification is about more than just urban displacement”

The performativity of the small plate experience pushes aside the authenticity of traditional recipes and generous portions. I’m Indian, so going out for curries was a rarity in my house. When we did, I remember the steaming plates of curries we shared between us. Yet, recently, a friend and I decided to try a new Indian place in central London. Ravenous, you can imagine my face when the waiter brought out tiny tins adorned with edible flowers. Nope, no desserts, just the bill please.

The Price We Pay

Forcing local businesses to increase their prices to keep up with local competition, family-owned restaurants are shutting down. It saddens me to see small plate restaurants bustling with people in suits, as dependable restaurants must close their doors.

Gentrification is about more than just urban displacement — it is also the way that we understand the spaces around us, and more importantly, what they represent. Redefining dishes for the masses that charge an arm and a leg for a starter, sucks the joy and warmth out of local businesses that pride themselves on community. Meanwhile, the family-run living room style restaurants disappear.

“Gentrification is ultimately about power — who has it, and what they do with it.”

For many, opening a restaurant is about finding a footing in a new country, or perhaps to put their children through school. London has always been a place where these kinds of businesses thrive. Yet, the melancholic reality is that these are businesses that cannot encroach into upper-class, small plate culture. The landscape of these areas makes the market impossible to penetrate, with higher rent caps and vast cultural differences. However, these bubbles of community — where family-owned restaurants thrive — can be moved into, replaced, and rebranded.

It’s like taking The Lion King and the 2024 film Mufasa — yes it’s new, but in no way is it better.

Or Is There More To It? 

Or perhaps nobody cares about the taste of food anymore. Instead, maybe we get so caught up in the aesthetics of our surroundings that our taste buds take a sabbatical. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a sucker for a photo dump or two, but if all I’m tasting is disappointment, I want more than a good insta story. The guise of modern dining is clouding us from the real problem — that most people just want to be where the cool kids are.

Just like using dating apps like Hinge, the choices are endless, but rarely leave you feeling satisfied. With a dwindling bank account, you’ll be left staring into the bottom of your glass, wishing you just stayed at home.

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The fact of the matter is that this new demographic of chefs from Surrey have the freedom and psyche to do as they please. Gentrification is ultimately about power — who has it, and what they do with it. In terms of small plates in London, power is represented in the encroachment of cultural bubbles. It is a story of movement.

So, the next time you see a bar with a name that sounds either like a porn star or a discontinued IKEA sofa, run in the opposite direction. Although, be careful not to fall into any others across the street. Look for the people talking across tables in restaurants with prices on the menu. Because, after all, perhaps not every young British chef is Jeremy Allen White in The Bear.

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Featured image courtesy of  Guste Ci on Unsplash. No changes made to this image. Image license found here.