Why Every New Restaurant Makes Me Feel Like I’m in a Scandinavian Divorce

I walked into a new restaurant last week and thought, “This place has incredible lighting for announcing a breakup.” The walls were blank. The chairs were wooden. The vibe was silent grief, with a hint of celery foam.

This is not an outlier. This is the aesthetic. Modern dining has fully committed to the Brutalist breakup look. White oak, gray linen, one dried flower in a concrete vase. The music is always ambient but faintly haunting, like the soundtrack to a very expensive anxiety dream.

The waiter appears, wearing an apron that costs more than your shoes, and sets down a dish that looks like it has emotional baggage.

Welcome to dinner. You’re here to reflect, not enjoy.

The Bleakening

There was a time when restaurants were loud. Warm. Slightly chaotic. Someone was always celebrating something. The walls had color. The menus had words. There was a sense that the place wanted you there.

Now? Now you’re seated at a blonde wood table the size of a clipboard. The chair is minimalist to the point of punishment. There’s a candle, but it’s barely hanging on. The menu is printed on recycled paper in all lowercase, and every dish sounds like a Scandinavian indie film.

• trout, ash, pine
  
  

• egg, winter grain, fog
  
  

• “milk”
  
  

There are no verbs. No descriptions. Just nouns and mystery. Asking for clarification feels like a breach of protocol.

The Cult of Restraint

Modern restaurant design is less about hospitality and more about control. You will sit on this hard bench. You will eat this five-course tasting menu in silence. You will appreciate the restraint.

Everything is neutral. Nothing is branded. The plates are asymmetrical. The cutlery feels like it was forged for ceremony, not function. If you ask for ketchup, someone behind you will flinch.

The whole experience is designed to feel elevated. Refined. Enlightened. But it’s hard to feel spiritually aligned when you just paid twenty-eight dollars for a radish and a vibe.

What Are We Doing?

I get it. Aesthetic minimalism signals luxury now. You’re not just eating. You’re participating in a mood. A lifestyle. A quiet form of social currency that says, “I know this is ridiculous, but I also know it’s cool.”

But at some point, I’d like to enjoy a meal without feeling like I’m being quietly judged by the ceiling beams. I’d like to sit in a chair that doesn’t require core strength. I’d like to use a fork that doesn’t feel like a design experiment.

Mostly, I’d like to eat dinner without feeling like I need to process something emotionally afterward.

Will It Change?

Probably not. These places aren’t for comfort. They’re for content. You’re not there to relax. You’re there to post. To signal taste. To demonstrate you’re fluent in beige.

But if anyone wants to open a restaurant that plays music you’ve actually heard, uses color on the walls, and gives me a chair with a backrest, I’ll be there. Wearing pants with pockets. Laughing at the table. Ordering a dish with more than one syllable.

Because food should nourish. And no one has ever been nourished by gray.