If you’re planning a meal at The Yellow Bittern, be warned: you’d better come with deep pockets. Hugh Corcoran, the chef and co-owner of a new 18-seater bistro in the heart of London, recently took to Instagram to declare that anyone daring to dine without ordering “correctly” – that is, splashing out on at least one main course, a couple of drinks, maybe a dessert – is “not worth serving”.

In his post, he said that “sharing plates have ruined dining”, that if you don’t drink “because you have done so to such excess that it cannot be permitted any longer” that you should order more food to make up for it, that if you’d rather share “a plate of radishes” between three, an allotment would be a better investment. He said any member of the “organised working class” should be able to afford a £40-£100 bill at least once a month and compared dining out in London to the Soviet Union, where “restaurants were not a right”.

In Corcoran’s eyes, sharing a couple of dishes, sipping on tap water or, god forbid, opting out of booze altogether is dining sin. It’s not that he’s worried about “lining his pockets”, or so he claims. It’s about creating “an atmosphere of conviviality” and bringing a sense of “abandon” to the table – a concept he believes budget-conscious diners and their “meagre approach” can’t seem to grasp.

His remarks reveal a troubling trend: the notion that restaurants should be exclusive sanctuaries for big spenders, where the ordinary diner has no right to linger.

The idea that eating out should be a “luxury” reserved for the few is wildly out of touch with the spirit of modern dining. Let’s be clear: there was a time when dining out was about “seeing and being seen”, but that era is gone. Today, restaurants are many things to many people. For some, they’re rare indulgences; for others, they’re simply a place to unwind with friends, to gossip over a shared dish or two and a glass of wine. And for countless diners, they’re a quick escape from the everyday grind, where the last thing they want is a chef demanding proof of their “right” to be there. Not everyone has time – or, frankly, the cash – to indulge in a blowout lunch on a weekday. To scorn diners for adapting to economic realities is not only tone-deaf, it’s entirely contrary to the spirit of hospitality.

During my visit to The Yellow Bittern, it was exclusionary right from the off. Firstly, it’s cash only. Who has that these days? Then there’s no wine list. Instead, Corcoran asks what you like, then returns with a selection of options – the cheapest he offered me was a hefty £67. This places the onus squarely on the diner to declare their budget, a situation that can quickly turn as sour as the wine he serves for anyone wary of hefty bills or unfamiliar with oenology.

The menu is just as limiting, featuring only two main courses – neither vegetarian, nor very good – which, while practical for a small kitchen, further narrows who the restaurant is prepared to serve. And, rather than turning tables, there are just two sittings and only at lunch, at 12pm and 2pm, which seems at odds with Corcoran’s claims that profitability isn’t a concern. In a setup this limited, one has to wonder if the business model is designed to alienate diners or simply to operate in another reality altogether.

Fundamentally, Corcoran has misunderstood the simple truth of running a restaurant: flexibility and respect for your diners is part of the deal. The notion that diners must “justify their presence”, as Corcoran put it, with a specific order and a “grand cru to drink and a Beaujolais Villages to rinse the mouth” – two of the most expensive bottles on a wine list, by the way – transforms restaurants from welcoming spaces into exclusive clubs that should only welcome guests willing to spend freely. This is an elitist view, and one many had hoped the restaurant industry had moved beyond, especially at a time when diners of all kinds are being selective about where they spend their money.

The ever-rising cost of living has impacted everyone, and blowing more than £100 on a meal is a luxury fewer and fewer can afford. Sure, many of us never used to bat an eyelid at a midweek lunch of three courses and a bottle of wine. But that world is long gone. Today’s diners are just as likely to seek out a quick, social repast as they are a leisurely multi-course affair. It’s true that independent restaurants like Corcoran’s have long faced challenges – from rent to staff shortages, inflation to fickle diners. But instead of shaming customers for their choices, smart restaurants find ways to welcome them all, understanding that some guests are after a pit stop, while others want a full spread. Minimum spends, cleverly priced set menus and creative wine pairings, or indeed non-alcoholic pairings, are standard practices for nudging diners towards a fuller experience. It’s not rocket science. Corcoran’s frustration might be genuine, but blaming diners for these problems is misguided. Running a small, independent restaurant is tough, yes, but berating your guests won’t make it any easier. And it won’t make us like you either.

What Corcoran’s rant ultimately reveals is not only a restaurateur seriously out of touch with reality, but a missed opportunity to foster loyalty, to adapt and make diners feel welcome regardless of their budget or dietary requirements. To argue that diners “justify their presence” with high orders and expensive wine is to misunderstand the beauty of eating out altogether. Restaurants are for everyone – especially now, when we need shared spaces of enjoyment more than ever, not reminders of where we fall short. And in these turbulent economic times, shouldn’t the onus be on restaurants to justify their presence to diners anyway? The tables have turned.

The message should be clear: a restaurant that respects its diners, and that welcomes all kinds of people, will ultimately have a longer, more vibrant life than one that demands they justify every bite. Good luck to him. I won’t be going back.

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