Watching other people eat

Some dos and don'ts

The Luv2Eat Thai moo-ping sat uneaten as the four top of bros next to me debated which countries would be most likely to win in a covert war.

“Here’s what you don’t understand about Cambodia.”

As they rambled on, ignoring their food and growing more animated ranking army sizes, I thought:

• Are men okay?

• Where did they get all of this information on stealth warfare tactics?

• Someone should really eat that skewer.

• How the hell did they suck me into this nonsense?

But then our fried chicken arrived and I successfully blocked out their noise. I’m a naturally oblivious diner, not hearing the couple fight behind me or missing a celebrity crossing through the bar. I get lost in the music if the playlist is good. I enter into a flow state as the food hits the table. I’m wrapped up in conversations with friends. Little else beyond our meal exists for those two hours.

There’s one main exception: Watching people react to food you’re about to eat.

On Tuesday night, I sat in the front corner of Quarter Sheets, closing out a week-long bender of an LA food tour with a friend visiting from New York. We had swung by days before for a slice and some desserts at the standing tables outside. Now we wanted the real thing, placing an order of:

• Chicory salad

• Peaches and sweet peppers with feta

• A Hawaiian bar pie

• The red top and Sicilian corner

• Cheesecake and the strawberry ice cream sundae

A few minutes later, I watched as the bar pie hit a table directly in my eye line. Two couples started grabbing slices while keeping their conversation going. I was waiting to see how they’d react to their first bites, having never tried this version before. I wanted some insight. Would they freak out with eye-widening excitement? Express disappointed? Immediately dive in for more or leave a bunch of food behind?

And instead I got nothing. They ate, they chatted about other non-food things, they acted like it could have been any replacement-level dish on the table — a method of dining out I don’t really understand, especially with a difficult-to-secure reservation.

There’s a delicate dance to walk here, breaking the fourth wall away from your own table at a restaurant. Here are some rules I abide by:

• Okay: Waiting to see how diners at another table react to a special before ordering it yourself.

• Not okay: Seeing a dish walk past you and exclaiming, “We have to get that.” Chill.

• Okay: Chatting with people at the table directly next to you about their order, assuming there’s been obvious enough eye contact that they’re down to mingle.

• Not okay: Pointing at the table across from you where people are actively eating, then asking the waiter what the dish is and if it’s good. Like, I’m at dinner. This ain’t a zoo.

• Okay: Leaving your table to go squeeze in with friends if you spot them across the restaurant.

• Not okay: Occupying that foreign table for more than 10 minutes.

• Okay: Asking your waiter, “What’s in this?” Or “How did they cook this?”

• Not okay: Asking the waiter to go back to the kitchen to get you the recipe in full.

• Okay: Cajoling the nearby table or bar seatmates into ordering something — especially dessert — if you see them eyeing your plate with curiosity.

That back-and-forth energy is part of what I love about a good restaurant. It’s why catching a group sit through a mostly silent dinner is depressing. I don’t need or want each component to go through a Top-Chef-style judgement. That’s obnoxious. Nothing kills the romance of a good dinner like someone saying the word mouthfeel.

But at a spot where the food is the main appeal, I like to debrief on each course. And I especially like eating with smart, opinionated friends who will drop an animated, finger-pointing — “Yo, that’s bangin’!” — when a dish is a knockout. It’s all part of the experience. If we’re eating together, I wanna know what you think.