Yet another new trend is sweeping the globe that Tempest in a Teardrop readers should be aware of. Eating out has been a “thing” since Grok visited Karnk in the next cave over because Karnk had nifty drawings of the animals being eaten. Primitive men decided to call it “atmosphere,” but it didn’t hurt that Karnks’ wives strategically wore Chinchilla fur before the concept of sewing had been invented. Grok was willing to spend extra spear points to get the personal service he deserved, and all parties went home happy, except for the mammoth who modeled for the cave drawings and was subsequently eaten for his trouble.

As mankind has become more civilized our dining experiences have grown. Live music, exotic cuisine, and dinner plays have all been used to part hungry guests from their hard-earned greenbacks. Occasionally there is food, drinks, and service. Modern restaurant theory has collided with two other trends and produced a dining experience that simply had to happen in the Traumatic Twenty-teens.

The first trend is social media, where the voluntary participants are the product.

The second is self-importance. Those other people who seem to be loitering about? They are not as important as you.

These new fusion restaurants feature exorbitant price tags and leave nothing to the imagination. The Amrita, opening July 29 in Tokyo, is the latest entry. The entrance fee is about $500, with additional charges for food and drinks. You’d better pay in advance, too, because you won’t be able to stow your credit card anywhere comfortable. Clothing, you see, is not allowed.

The Bunyadi is a clothing-optional restaurant that opened in London on June 11. The waiting list was 40,000 people. The nude section holds 42 guests, and the leering section isn’t much larger. This gives you about three years to get your best nude-eatery body ready. You won’t see advertisements on the London Underground, though. Thankfully, the five-course meal is a more reasonable but still-not-cheap £60 ($100), pre-Brexit. Politicians have promised that post-Brexit everything will increase approximately six million percent. Take that, peasants, even those of you with nothing to wear.

The Noble Experiment of Melbourne beat The Bunyadi by holding a nude dinner for 50 guests two weeks prior. Guests arrived clothed, undressed privately, and put on fluffy spa robes while sipping cocktails. At the appointed time, several cocktails later, the robes came off and they all dove into their meals. One brave woman wanted to stick it to the body shamers, which she did during her local television interview by keeping her robe securely closed.

Japan is a little late to the trend but they are rapidly making up for it because they don’t allow SJW nonsense to get in the way of a very expensive bare-naked dining experience. The requirements to get in are extensive, and your entrance fee is forfeit if you are found to be wanting.

  • No cellphones. No photographs.
  • No “calling out to other customers.” Presumably this means making fun of any… aberrations.
  • No touching. This must mean other people ’cause the food isn’t ethereal.
  • No tattoos.
  • Guests must be between the ages of 18 and 60. Naked centenarians don’t make the most appetizing restaurant decor.
  • No fatties. You will be weighed and measured and if you are 30 or more pounds over your ideal weight they’ll send you on to the next (weird Japanese restaurant) without standards.

I imagine there are a number of problems with nude dining that aren’t readily apparent at first blush. Lets say you are eating with your boss, in-laws, or friendly IRS auditor, and drop a fork under the table. Are you going to pick it up? I sure as hell am not.

Some foods can be messy. Soup. Ribs. Crab. Wearing a bib would seem to violate the naked-dining experience. At least you’ll have something to share with the dogs when you get home.

Normally I’d like my steak to arrive sizzling. Without protective clothing? Not so much. Flambé anything is right out.

Mundane spills could initiate a crisis of epically embarrassing proportions.

What about the kitchen staff? Are they preparing food in the buff? I’m only asking for the health inspector.

I’m going to assume the cleanup staff are getting paid extra to thoroughly disinfect surfaces. Did you see the overweight dude eating the Spicy Fiesta Burrito sitting in the very same seat you are now using? With the heat turned way up, and it will be, sweaty thigh seat will be the least of your worries.

I’m all in favor of capitalism, and if restaurateurs can rake in cash by charging self-important, socially-aware, fabulously-wealthy foolish people exorbitant prices for exotic dining experiences, then good for them. The rest of us should be aware that this is going on, though, and use the knowledge strategically when hosting Thanksgiving dinner in November.



The Spork Speaks — Tempest in a Teardrop — tempestinateardrop.com