Anyone who has ever made a reservation at a restaurant, then, for no good reason, failed to show up – it’s you we have to blame for the latest development in the restaurant world. The ticketing system Tock – where pay for your dinner when you book the table, in the same way that you pay upfront for a sporting event, theatre or gig – launched in the US at the end of last year. It is the brainchild of Nick Kokonas, the co-owner of Alinea, Chicago’s “fun, emotional and provocative” (and, of course, hugely expensive) modernist restaurant. I wondered at the time whether it would ever find traction on British shores. And lo: the Clove Club in Shoreditch, east London, has just announced that next month it will be the first restaurant in the UK to adopt it for its £65 and £95 tasting menus.
I completely understand why restaurants would turn to Tock. In a business where margins can be squeaky-tight, the loss of a few tables every week to no-shows or what the biz calls “short-seating” – the practice of booking a table for a larger group than turns up – can mean the difference between profit and breaking even. I have spoken to restaurateurs who have bemoaned evenings when, of the 32 tables booked, only four have shown up.
Why does it happen? In big cities, concierges block-book for weeks in advance in case their wealthy overseas clients fancy dropping into the hard-to-get, hot tickets. Then there are the would-be diners who reserve three or four restaurants at a time, reckoning “we can decide which we fancy on the night”. Failing to cancel those bookings might not make a painful difference to the deep-pocketed big boys, but for the equally sought-after small independents, it can hurt badly.
But what do ticketing systems mean for us, the customers? Asking around throws up quite a hard core of resistance. The Clove Club’s Isaac McHale dismisses any intention of “surging” – that grasping practice used by the likes of Uber to hike their prices at peak times. Instead, he says off-peak bookings could be made more affordable – something that could work well for restaurant and diner. Any other incentives? “A true picture of availability,” he says. “Often restaurants have tables held for phone reservations, so you look online and it says full, but when you call they have a table.”
And what happens if you genuinely can’t make it on the night? McHale sees no reason why people can’t sell their tickets on, as you would with concerts or theatre. “But,” he continues, “I’m sure there will be situations where we can do something for someone.” They will also put measures in place to avoid the very real possibility of “scalping”, when the price shoots sky-high. And if the diner hates her pre-paid dinner? “It rarely happens … But if it should, we will seek to resolve any issues in exactly the same way we deal with it now.”
On the other side of the coin, Nick Gibson of the excellent Draper’s Arms in Islington, north London, is adamant that he will not be adopting Tock, no matter what. “I can’t contemplate a pre-pay system that treats every honest customer as a potential culprit.” He insists he is not knocking other restaurateurs’ actions, and acknowledges that his casual style of outfit is more likely to benefit from walk-ins than anyone at the upscale end of the business. “It’s just a shame when a tiny minority cause wholly unnecessary inconvenience and upset for a vast majority of good people,” he says.
Others are more bullish: “Simple rule,” says James Lewis of high-end Gauthier Soho. “If someone no-shows without explanation, they’re banned for life,” – a measure he says “works very well”. But then they have the luxury of a loyal and dedicated clientele of regulars, not something that many big-city restaurateurs can rely on.
I have no problem with Tock and its ilk, but then I’m a restaurant nut. I want interesting, independent restaurants not only to survive, but to flourish. After a recent tasting of the tiniest, most fragile cheese tartlets, served with intense duck broth scented with morels and ginger in a glass “seasoned” with ancient, raisiny bual madeira at the Clove Club, I’d happily shell out upfront for whatever it has to offer. McHale is adamant that it is in everyone’s favour, restaurant and diner: “Our system is more transparent, and ticket sales will allow us, as a small business, to plan effectively, reduce waste and work smarter.”
If it meant I could get a seat at Sushi Tetsu – impossible since the early days before word got out (damn you, Jay Rayner) – I’d be all over Tock like a rash. But for those less obsessed with their dinner, the jury’s still out. One thing is for sure: if some diners continue to abuse restaurants’ hospitality, the rest of us will wind up paying.
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