The Top 25 Restaurant Trends

Empire state of chefs

It’s not as if culinary figures hadn’t hawked kitchen products, attached their names to restaurants in cities they’d visit quarterly, or graced TV screens before the early 2000s. However, the ascendance of Food Network, Top Chef, and other food media transformed chefs and restaurateurs into celebrities and full-on brands. The savviest, people like Gordon Ramsay, José Andrés, and Alain Ducasse, used their culinary cred to elevate their products, services, dishes, and dining rooms from in-name-only deals to global luxury brands. It allowed diners and haute home cooks to taste a little bit of the magic that made these chefs household names. —Kat Kinsman

Viva Las Vegas

In the era before the late-1990s construction boom, Las Vegas visitors gambled as frequently in dining rooms as they did on the gaming floors. But a higher-end clientele was ushered in that sought out culinary indulgence with a passion reserved previously for the poker rooms and table games. Middling steak, stodgy buffets, bottom-shelf liquor, and dubious shrimp may have once been the name of the game, but the investment in big-name chefs like Emeril Lagasse, Joël Robuchon, Julian Serrano, and Thomas Keller made Sin City dining not just a solid bet, but a legitimate jackpot. —Kat Kinsman

Molecular gastronomy’s wow years

To Wylie Dufresne, one of the century’s most polarizing food movements simply has a branding issue: “Wanna go out for dinner tonight? Italian? Chinese? Molecular gastronomy? No one’s going to pick that.” Chefs like Grant Achatz, Homaro Cantu, José Andrés, and Dufresne collaborated with scientists and engineers to push the boundaries of traditional cooking techniques, as did overseas counterparts Ferran Adrià and Heston Blumenthal. 

In the hands of these experts, it was often revelatory and emotional. A person might giggle hysterically at the burst of a liquid olive or edible helium balloon, or weep at an atomized shrimp cocktail. In other hands, there was just a lot of sad foam and clear, droopy noodles. Dufresne admits that experiments during the late 2000s and early 2010s were a tad showy, but for him, it’s just “modern American” and part of his eternal learning process. “We tried,” he says. “I hope it helped.” —Kat Kinsman

The global Brooklyn aesthetic

No matter where you live, you’ve been to this restaurant: It sports reclaimed wood floors and exposed brick walls, menu scribbled on chalkboards, and communal tables set with Mason jar glassware. And, of course, bare Edison bulbs that dangle from the ceiling. Restaurateur Andrew Tarlow is largely credited with sparking this trend when he opened Diner in 1998, followed by Marlow & Sons and Marlow & Daughters, all in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The neighborhood became the epicenter of this wrought, unpolished aesthetic. Before long, it spread worldwide, as it decked out restaurants and coffee shops from San Francisco to Sydney. —Regan Stephens

Chang’s charge: the Momofuku effect

In 2004, as David Chang’s East Village restaurant Momofuku Noodle Bar began to attract a rabid clientele and critical acclaim, he was as shocked as anyone. “There was no indication that I was gonna do anything great,” he told Food & Wine’s Tinfoil Swans podcast. “But I’m gonna go so hard that there’s no regret when it all ends.” 

Cranked-up hip-hop bounced off the spare wooden counters and uncushioned seats, and an open kitchen cranked out artful ramen and Kurobuta belly bao. It was antithetical to the luxe French supremacy he’d bucked against in culinary school, but diners and food writers (including F&W, which named Chang a Best New Chef in 2004) couldn’t slurp it up fast enough. 

By 2006, he’d opened the similarly spare yet spectacular Ssäm Bar (“to pay for health care for everybody”) to equal acclaim, and he eventually expanded the empire into a next-door laundromat to accommodate the first of Christina Tosi’s fever-dream Momofuku Milk Bars. The reaches of the Momofuku empire soon crept to the rest of New York City, the country, and other continents. It’s still going hard, two decades later. No regrets. —Kat Kinsman

Meals on wheels

In 2008, Roy Choi’s Kogi barbecue food truck hit the streets of Los Angeles. Within months, customers were refreshing their Twitter feeds to track down their short rib tacos and gooey kimchi quesadillas. In the midst of a recession, food trucks became a low-stakes testing ground for ambitious culinary ideas, and soon, a caravan rolled out nationwide. The Great Food Truck Race premiered on Food Network in 2010 (now on its 18th season), which acted as the launching pad for businesses like the Lime Truck in Irvine, California, and Aloha Plate in Waikiki, Hawaii. —Regan Stephens

Pass the small plate

Remember the days when dinner meant one full-sized entrée flanked by a couple of sides? Over time, restaurant plates shrank and multiplied. José Andrés helped to bring the joy of Spanish tapas to the American mainstream in 1993 when he opened Jaleo in Washington, D.C. By the 2010s, small, shareable plates were dominating menus everywhere. The Great Recession gave the format a boost, as it lured in budget-conscious diners and let chefs showcase pricier ingredients in bite-size form. The bonus for diners? More variety and less entrée envy. —Regan Stephens

Nordic new wave

When Noma debuted in Copenhagen in 2003, cofounders René Redzepi and Claus Meyer vowed to cook only with Nordic ingredients, from reindeer moss and tart sea buckthorn to wild duck eggs fried tableside in smoking hay oil. A year later, Meyer collaborated with other regional chefs to publish the “New Nordic Food Manifesto,” a document that defined New Nordic cuisine. 

A movement that blends seasonality, sustainability, and a radical sense of place, that ethos still endures across Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Finland, and Iceland. In 2010, Noma earned the title of World’s Best Restaurant, and its fermentation lab, where foraged and local ingredients are transformed into umami flavor gold, helped to catapult the concept to mythical food-world status. Now, there are New Nordic restaurants around the world, from Brooklyn’s Aska to Copenhagen’s own Geranium. —Regan Stephens

Keep Portland weird and delicious

By the early 2010s, Portland’s indie food scene was thriving amid a flurry of funky fish-sauce wings and maple-bacon donuts. The Pacific Northwestern city was home to Andy Ricker’s Pok Pok, which drew national raves for its Thai-style wings. Gabriel Rucker’s Le Pigeon served foie gras profiteroles, and Naomi Pomeroy offered intimate communal tasting menus at Beast. Food carts like Nong’s Khao Man Gai flourished under the city’s lax rules, which created test kitchens for future stars. With farm-fresh bounty from the nearby Willamette Valley and Portlandia’s 2011 send-ups that amplified its quirks, the city became one of America’s most delightfully eccentric dining destinations. —Regan Stephens

Southern revival: grits go glam

Nearly lost to the gristmill of time is that Sean Brock, the heirloom-vegetable tatted, heritage-hog raising, Southern food evangelist who once vowed that non-regional ingredients would never make it through the doors of his Charleston restaurant, was once one of America’s most prominent practitioners of modernist cuisine. (Behold his 2010 recipe for “Molecular Shrimp and Grits.”) But the curiosity that drew him to the liquid nitrogen tank also sent him to explore heirloom strains of benne, corn, hogs, and other foodstuffs on the brink of extinction.

He helped to breed a renewed appetite for these distinct regional flavors through their use in traditional yet updated dishes. Southern restaurant fare, often delicious but served with a side of stodginess, was suddenly the haute fare of the moment. But while restaurants like Brock’s Husk, and others in the “lardcore” (a term coined by late food writer Josh Ozersky) vein might have been touted at the time as temples of fatty, bourbon-drenched excess, they actually helped preserve these ingredients and recipes for generations to come. —Kat Kinsman

The line starts here

Is it a bakery or a nightclub? Not long after Dominique Ansel unveiled the cronut at his namesake New York City bakery in 2013, the French pastry chef had to hire security guards to tame the hungry hoards who lined up — and at times, camped out overnight — for a taste. Of course, the flaky, cream-filled croissant-donut hybrid was delicious, but social media also fanned the flames of FOMO. Around that time, crowds queued for everything from brisket at Franklin Barbecue in Austin to Umami Burgers in Los Angeles. The payoff? Something delicious — and a photo for the grid. —Regan Stephens

Raw and radical

Once a hallmark of co-ops and hippie communes, vegan food got a sleek rebrand from a wave of ambitious chefs that let ingredient constraints fuel creativity. New York City’s Pure Food & Wine was an early player in 2004, serving up raw (not heated above 118-degrees Fahrenheit) kelp-noodle Pad Thai and nut-milk Mallomars that lured the likes of Alec Baldwin, Gisele, and Bill Clinton. By 2014, stylish vegan haunts like Tal Ronnen’s candle-lit Crossroads in L.A. and hip sushi den Planta in Miami proved that animal products weren’t required for big flavor and buzz. —Regan Stephens

The burgerfication of America

Long ago, hamburgers were mostly associated with fast food chains, diners, and backyard barbecues. But in 2001, Daniel Boulud helped us realize that the humble burger could be just as sophisticated as a steak. Boulud developed a French-inflected burger at db Bistro Moderne as a tongue-in-cheek reference to McDonald’s, stuffed with foie gras and red wine-braised short rib. At $29, the Guinness Book of World Records recognized it as the world’s most expensive burger. But it wasn’t just a gimmick. The db Burger became a staple at Boulud’s more casual restaurants, and inspired chefs around the country to add a signature burger to their menus. 

Meanwhile, Danny Meyer rebranded the fast food burger with the launch of Shake Shack, a smash burger and custard chain that uses premium, ethically sourced ingredients. There’s now more than 510 locations across the world, and in the last five years, the crispy-edged smash burger, the antithesis to the juicy, tavern-style patties, has reached new levels of popularity. No matter where you live, you’re bound to have a destination-worthy burger within reach. —Amelia Schwartz

There’s an app for that

Back in the day, we explain to today’s disbelieving youth, if you wanted to make a reservation, you called the restaurant. On the phone. When it launched in 1998, online platform OpenTable turned the game digital and made reservation books (and in some cases, land lines) obsolete. In 2014, Resy introduced mobile waitlists and paid upgrades for hard-to-get tables, while Tock let diners pre-pay for restaurant dinners in the same way you’d buy tickets for a concert. With fewer no-shows and cash often in advance, restaurants loved the new tools. —Regan Stephens

Market halls go mainstream

Food halls aren’t new (see Seattle’s Pike Place and Philly’s Reading Terminal Market), but a fresh wave kicked off by Chelsea Market in the late 1990s and was followed by Gotham West in New York City, DeKalb Market Hall in Brooklyn, and Ponce City Market in Atlanta. They turned the concept into curated culinary hubs. Polished and primed for grazing, rising chefs found a modern stage to develop new concepts or expand ones already in existence. For customers, they offered mix-and-match meals that might include craft coffee, buzzy ramen, pierogi, tacos, or (and?) regionally inspired ice cream, all under one photogenic roof. —Regan Stephens

Fast-casual 2.0

By the early 2000s, Chipotle’s assembly-line Mexican-American concept ushered in a new lunchtime era. Prior to that, midday meals were often a choice between cheap fast-food burgers or pricier, time-sucking sit-down spots. The Denver-born chain’s menu of build-your-own burritos and bowls, all made with fresh, high-quality ingredients, helped to launch the fast-casual category. It paved the way for Sweetgreen’s quinoa and roasted sweet potato-filled salads, and Cava’s harissa avocado bowls, served alongside hummus and pita chips. In this new lane, lunch was quick, customizable, healthy-ish, and relatively affordable. —Regan Stephens

Smart phones steal the scene

It’s difficult to imagine what today’s food culture would look like without smartphones. The iPhone debuted in 2007, and its built-in camera meant that anyone could create “food porn” (let’s leave that phrase in the early 2000s). Then Instagram launched in 2010, which introduced a platform to post these food photos. Most were shared to friends and followers, but occasionally, a photo was so delicious-looking that it took on a life of its own and drove real-world trends. 

Smartphones also brought new levels of efficiency for restaurant workers. Hosts and managers can access their reservation platforms with their phones and tablets, rather than a pen and paper. At many restaurants, guests can simply tap their phone to pay. During the pandemic, smartphones allowed guests to prevent the spread of germs by scanning a QR code to view menus. —Amelia Schwartz

Live fire dining

After an era of cooking with sous-vide bags and fastidious tweezer plating, chefs dialed down the precision and turned up the heat. Celebrated Argentine chef Francis Mallmann helped spark the shift with his 2009 cookbook Seven Fires, a romantic ode to smoke, char, and the ancient technique of live-fire cooking. Spain’s Asador Etxebarri followed and earned a spot among the World’s Best with wood-fired Basque specialties. By 2018, North American restaurants like Mourad in San Francisco and Maydan in D.C. centered menus (and whole dining rooms) around cavernous open hearths. They turned blistered eggplant and spiced lamb shoulder into a dramatic, smoke-scented show. —Regan Stephens

Plant power

Beyond the patty shape itself, plant-based burgers made of bulgar wheat or soy could never be mistaken for their beefy counterparts. That changed with the introduction of a convincing dupe. Born in a Silicon Valley lab, Impossible Food’s soy-heme patty “bled” rosy pink and delivered a meaty flavor with a fraction of beef’s carbon footprint. In 2016, David Chang put Impossible Burgers on his menu at Momofuku Nishi, with special sauce and a side of shoestring fries. Two years later, White Castle began to flip $1.99 Impossible sliders, and Burger King offered it as a near-identical alternative to the original Whopper. By 2019, plant-based beef, chicken, and sausages from Impossible and Beyond Meat were being served at Michelin dining rooms and mall food courts across the country. —Regan Stephens

Tableside theater

With the advent of Instagram, TikTok and other means to showcase eating, a thunder of guéridon trolley wheels rolled through dining rooms across the country that delivered whiz-bang, camera-ready moments. State Bird Provisions in San Francisco revved up dim sum-style carts of quail brûlée. New York City’s Eleven Madison Park rolled an haute Manhattan station tableside. Also in NYC, a fleet of presumably flameproof luxury vehicles made their rounds at Major Hospitality Group restaurants like The Grill and Carbone. They made flambéed steaks as much of a draw as showgirls and crooners were back in the ring-a-ding supper club days they sought to evoke. Dinner and a show? That’s so last century. Dinner is the show. —Kat Kinsman

Bottle service supper

When the Pan-Asian restaurant TAO burst onto the scene, first in New York City in 2000, followed by Vegas in 2005, dinner and a show fused into one over-the-top spectacle. It came with a thumping soundtrack, sparklers, and $40 plates of miso cod. STK Steakhouse followed with “vibe dining,” velvet banquettes, rib eyes, and a resident DJ. By the late 2010s, the formula was locked: a menu of steaks or prix-fixe sushi, flowing Champagne and bottle service, and plenty of theater. From Mayami’s fire dancers and wagyu sliders in Miami, to Catch LA’s celebrity-studded rooftop, dinner wasn’t the prelude anymore. It was the main event. —Regan Stephens

The delivery revolution

Remember the days when, to order delivery, you had to call the restaurant? Delivery apps like Grubhub (2004), DoorDash (2013), and UberEats (2014) revolutionized food access and made it possible to order from nearly any restaurant in your city. A restaurant’s need to hire delivery drivers was suddenly not necessary. Now, couriers employed by these apps can make stops at dozens of restaurants per night. 

It’s led to new innovations like ghost kitchens, creative meal kits, and even robots that bring food directly to your door. They became essential during the pandemic, when stepping inside a dining room felt unsafe. But though third-party delivery apps are non-negotiable for most restaurants, even some with Michelin stars, it comes with a cost. Onboarding, marketing, and hefty commission fees make it difficult for many restaurants to survive with or without this technology. —Amelia Schwartz

Streetside sheds and pop-up pivots

When Covid emptied dining rooms, restaurants moved fast — onto sidewalks, into ghost kitchens, and straight to your door. New York City issued more than 12,000 outdoor dining permits. It sparked a wave of curbside “streeteries” that ranged from homespun plywood shacks to elaborate heat lamp–warmed huts aglow with chandeliers. Buzzy pop-ups turned bakers and line cooks into social media stars, while merch drops and meal kits kept businesses afloat. Some fine-dining institutions even reworked their concept to remain profitable. In Seattle, Canlis operated temporarily as a bagel shop and burger drive-thru. And while it may have begun as a survival strategy, some of these pandemic pivots have become lasting additions to the dining landscape. —Regan Stephens

Omakase for all

With its glossy parade of precision-cut fish and triple-digit price tags, omakase was long reserved for expense accounts and special-occasion splurges. Then came spots like Sugarfish in L.A. (2008) and KazuNori in New York City (2014) that offered condensed, sub-$100 set menus served in under an hour. These upstarts swapped hushed reverence for a high-energy vibe, and they turned the chef’s-choice experience into an accessible indulgence. —Regan Stephens

The impossible reservation

After years of pandemic restrictions, diners were ready to splash out at buzzy, see-and-be-seen restaurants. That crush drove demand, and in some cases, the hottest tables in town suddenly had a surcharge. Resy introduced its waitlist feature in 2017, while tech platform Dorsia, launched in 2022, let diners pay for peak slots. For particularly coveted seats, like Major Food Group’s “impossible tables” at Torrisi and Carbone, American Express Platinum cardholders could have first dibs. Now, access was as relished as the meal itself. —Regan Stephens