Category: Dining Experiences

I love tasting menus. That does not mean I think you should always order one.

I have planned trips around restaurant reservations, tried things I never expected to eat, and spent amounts on dinner that would make plenty of people question my judgment. Fair enough. Sometimes I question it myself.

Are tasting menus worth it? For me, yes—with conditions. The food has to be memorable, the hospitality has to make you comfortable, and the evening has to justify the money and time. That includes your money, your time, and the other things you could have done on that trip.

An expensive dinner does not get a good review from me simply because I paid for it.

How São Paulo Brought Me Back to Tasting Menus

This interest started years before the trips I write about now. I used to frequent Harvest in Closter, New Jersey, and those tasting menus helped open my palate. I enjoyed letting the kitchen introduce me to things I might not have ordered myself.

Then life happened. That part of my life slowed down.

On my first trip to São Paulo, the omakase at Kazuo and the tasting menu at Evvai brought the urge back. I wanted to try more, learn more, and find out what another kitchen could show me.

Since then, it has become part of how I live. I research restaurants, plan trips around meals, and come home thinking about the next experience.

It is also part of what gets me to work every day. The next dollar, euro, real, or whatever currency I need for the next tasting menu or omakase has a purpose. I am working toward something I am excited to experience.

Tasting Menu vs. À La Carte: What Am I Paying For?

If I measured every meal by the amount of food on the table, I would make very different reservations.

A tasting menu gives a kitchen the chance to introduce its cooking through a sequence of dishes. At its best, that means trying combinations I would never think to order, seeing ingredients used in unfamiliar ways, and enjoying a dinner that develops as it goes along.

That is the appeal for me. I can order something familiar almost anywhere. When I commit to a tasting menu, I want the restaurant to give me a reason to hand over those decisions.

But I still want dinner to taste good.

An explanation can make a dish more interesting. It cannot make me enjoy a bite I do not want to eat again. Beautiful plates and elaborate presentations are welcome, but the food has to carry its part of the evening.

Tasting Menus Changed What I Eat

This is probably the strongest argument I can make for them: tasting menus have changed what I enjoy eating.

Because of these meals, I have eaten guinea pig, pig’s face, pig’s brains, snails, and sea snails. I have eaten pigeon multiple times. I started eating eel and discovered that I actually enjoy it. At Metzi and D.O.M., I ate insects, too.

I found my love of uni. Truffles and caviar have become very close friends of mine. Expensive friends, admittedly.

And then there are beans. I do not like beans. Yet Evvai’s take on feijoada was amazing.

That is what makes handing over some control worthwhile. Left to my own decisions, I might have read an ingredient, decided it was not for me, and ordered something familiar. A tasting menu puts a different preparation in front of me and gives me a reason to reconsider.

I am not going to pretend I loved every unfamiliar thing I have ever eaten. But I would have missed foods I now enjoy if I had only ordered what I already knew I liked.

Sometimes the value of a dinner follows you into the next restaurant. You see eel or uni on another menu, and this time you are excited to order it.

It also works with food I already know. Disfrutar served me familiar flavors in forms I barely recognized—unexpected shapes, textures, and presentations that made me look twice before taking a bite. Evvai and Mont Bar have done that, too.

I enjoy the moment when what I am looking at and what I am tasting do not quite match my expectations. When it works, I get to rediscover something familiar. The unusual form gets my attention; the flavor is what makes me want another bite.

Sometimes Dinner Teaches You About the Place

Tasting menus have also helped me understand where I am traveling.

D.O.M. and Tuju taught me about Brazil’s ecosystems through their food. Those meals gave me more to think about than whether I liked an individual course. They made me curious about the places and environments behind the ingredients.

At Tuju, I had the Chuva, or Rain, menu, and at D.O.M. I had Quando a Onça Bebe Água—“When the Jaguar Drinks Water.” Both used the meal to tell me something about Brazil beyond what was on the plate. That is what I remember most. I wasn’t just eating dinner; I was learning something about the place I was visiting.

At Dos Pebrots in Barcelona, dinner became an introduction to Catalan gastronomic history. I was learning about the food of a place while actually tasting it.

Maido did that for me in Peru. So did Astrid y Gastón, although that meal was à la carte. It was my first day in Peru, and yes, I overordered. Apparently, arriving in a new country makes me want to start tasting as much of it as possible immediately.

That is an important distinction: a tasting menu is one way to learn about a place through food. My à la carte meal at Astrid y Gastón gave me that kind of introduction, too. What matters is the cooking, the people explaining it, and my willingness to try something unfamiliar.

And the experience does not have to stop at food. At Carnaval, a cocktail tasting menu also introduced me to Peru through what was in the glass. They made me custom cocktails with Don Julio 1942, too, and seemed just as happy to crack open that bottle as I was to see what they would make with it.

The custom drinks were another part of the evening—the kind of personal interaction that makes a bar stay with me long after the last sip.

That matters to me because food is a big part of why I travel. I want to come home with more than photographs of attractive plates. I want to understand something I did not understand before I sat down.

An explanation still has to connect to food I enjoy eating. But when a restaurant gets both right, I leave with a memory of the meal and a better understanding of the destination. That adds something to the value of the evening that counting courses never will.

Mont Bar: When the Whole Evening Comes Together

Mont Bar in Barcelona is one of my clearest examples of a tasting menu earning its place in a trip.

I loved the smoked tuna belly with pine nut emulsion and the warm mochi with sobrasada and Mahón cheese. The mushroom course with mushroom ice cream and white miso gave me something unfamiliar that I actually wanted to eat.

The wine pairing added discoveries, and the room felt lively and welcoming. After dinner, the team made me a complimentary custom cocktail to enjoy outside.

I paid for my meal; that final drink was a gesture from the restaurant. It stayed with me because it felt personal.

Mont Bar remains one of my five best meals. The reason is the combination: food, wine, people, and how comfortable I felt spending the evening there.

Oiji Mi: The Dessert I Thought I Was Getting

At Oiji Mi in New York, the first course was amazing. The Oiji Bowl gave me some of the best uni I have eaten, and the beef tartare and scallop were other favorites.

But one of the most memorable moments came at dessert.

My dining partner told me I would have to finish hers. That sounded like an arrangement I could work with.

Then I looked up to get another piece, and her plate was empty. She had finished it herself.

Apparently, I was no longer needed.

We had arrived after a long day without much appetite, yet the food kept giving us reasons to carry on. I can describe ingredients and presentation, but someone going from “you’ll have to finish mine” to leaving nothing for me says quite a lot about that dessert.

Those are the details that make a meal stay with me. The first bite, a standout dish, and the moment across the table that still makes me laugh afterward.

You Do Not Need the Most Expensive Version

At Viaggio’s chef’s counter, the pasta and the interaction with Chef Rabbit gave the experience its value. The ravioli, oxtail tortellini, and spaghetti were central to what I enjoyed.

That is a useful reminder when planning a food-focused trip: a memorable meal does not have to be the most famous reservation available.

Look at what interests you. It might be pasta, a particular chef’s approach, a regional cuisine, or the chance to sit at a counter and watch the kitchen work.

Start there. The price should be something you evaluate after finding a reason to go.

Check Whether You Actually Have a Choice

Before you decide between a tasting menu and à la carte, check whether the restaurant offers both. Some restaurants only serve a tasting menu. You cannot assume you can sit down, skip the full experience, and order the two dishes you saw online.

Research that before you book. Read the restaurant’s current menu and reservation terms, check whether different dining rooms or counters offer different formats, and ask if anything is unclear. Confirm dietary restrictions and substitutions ahead of time, too.

If it is tasting-menu-only, the decision is whether you want that experience at all. There is nothing wrong with choosing another restaurant if you do not.

That is especially important when booking for other people. Everyone should know what kind of meal they are agreeing to, how long it is likely to take, and what it is likely to cost.

I Overorder. The Rest of the Table Knows It.

Even when à la carte is available, I am not exactly the person who orders two sensible dishes and hands back the menu.

There can be just two of us, and I still want to try far more food than we need. I see another dish that sounds interesting, then another, and suddenly a normal dinner has become a much bigger project.

I enjoy that. I want to taste things, compare them, and find out whether the dish I almost skipped ends up being the best thing on the table.

But I have also seen the faces.

Friends, family, friends of friends. I start ordering, and there is a look that says, “Wait. Are we splitting this equally?” Followed pretty closely by, “What the hell is an oyster with pearls?”

That is my interpretation of the look, but the concern is fair. I may be thinking about what I want to try. Someone else may be calculating their share of a dinner that just got a lot more expensive without anyone asking them.

My enthusiasm is not an agreement from everyone else to fund it.

Before ordering half the menu, the table needs to agree on what we are sharing, roughly what we want to spend, and how we are splitting the bill. If I want something extra that nobody else wants, I need to make clear that it is my extra—not quietly add it to everybody’s equal share.

A tasting menu can make the base food cost clearer because everyone knows the price ahead of time. Pairings, drinks, and supplements still need a conversation. One person’s enthusiasm for an upgrade does not make it a group decision.

Does Everyone Need the Biggest Dinner Possible?

No. Not even when I am tempted to order it.

If à la carte is available and the dishes you are most excited about can be ordered that way, choose those dishes. Share something else if everyone wants to. Leave room for dessert—or another stop later.

A long tasting menu works much better when everyone actually wants to be there. If one person wants an evening built around dinner and another wants to eat and explore the city, settle that before booking.

I would rather have a table full of people enjoying the meal than a table full of people wondering how expensive my next sentence is going to be.

Is the Wine Pairing Worth It? I Usually Skip It.

I love a tasting menu, but I usually skip the wine pairing and order a few drinks instead. I like being able to drink at my own pace.

Sometimes I want to stay with a cocktail I am enjoying. Sometimes I want a glass of wine without another selection arriving with the next course. I do not always want my drinking to follow the kitchen’s schedule.

There is also how I feel afterward. In the United States and South America, wine pairings have usually left me with a hangover and sometimes what feels like acid reflux. With the pairings I have had in Europe, that has not been my experience.

That is an observation about my own meals, not proof that European wine prevents either problem. I cannot tell you whether the difference was the wines, quantities, pacing, food, or something else.

Mont Bar helped change how open I was to pairings. That experience encouraged me to order them at Disfrutar and Dos Pebrots, too. It also introduced me to Spanish wines I would now order independently from a wine list.

That is value I can take into another meal. I am learning what I enjoy, instead of needing someone to choose for me every time.

On my European trips, particularly in Spain, I have also noticed a different rhythm around drinking: wine with the meal, and cocktails often before or afterward. It felt different from the way I tend to drink when dining in the United States. That is how those particular evenings unfolded for me, rather than a rule for everyone in Europe.

I still usually prefer choosing a few drinks and enjoying them at my own pace. But after Mont Bar, I am more willing to consider what a thoughtful pairing might add.

You can commit to the food experience without committing to every drink offered alongside it.

Supplements: If They Make Sense, Go for It

If a supplement sounds interesting and the extra cost seems reasonable for what it adds, I am usually inclined to go for it.

I am already there because I want to experience the cooking. If there is a dish I am particularly curious about, I do not want to skip it automatically just because it costs extra.

The question is what the upgrade actually gives me.

Is it a different dish or an ingredient that makes the preparation more appealing? Or is it mostly an excuse to sell me caviar or shave truffles over something?

I love both. We have established that. But even close friends do not need to show up at every course.

Give me a reason to want the supplement beyond the name of an expensive ingredient, and a price that makes sense to me, and I will happily consider it.

Judge the Full Bill Before You Book

The advertised menu price is where I start. I also check drinks, supplements, any booking charges, and how tax and service are handled at that restaurant.

Then I ask a more useful question: would I still choose this dinner at the total I am realistically going to spend?

That number matters much more than the lowest price shown on the menu.

For a useful comparison, put the complete tasting-menu evening next to the à la carte meal you would realistically order. Include drinks in both. Check whether a supplement replaces a course or adds another one, and whether its price is per person. An optional upgrade should be a deliberate choice, not something you discover on the bill.

So does the time involved. On a short trip, one long dinner occupies an evening you could spend somewhere else. Sometimes that reservation is exactly why I traveled. Other times, a shorter meal leaves room for more of the city.

I am also not going to pretend I only book experiences when the money is comfortably sitting there. Sometimes, after doing the research, I decide a meal or experience is worth going into debt for. That is a personal decision about what matters to me, not a rule I expect anyone else to follow.

The question is whether I want that experience enough to accept the full cost—including the interest if I carry a balance. I want to make that decision before I book, with a clear understanding of what I am committing to.

Service Is Part of What I Am Buying

When I book a tasting menu, I want to know about every dish I am served. Tell me what the ingredients are, where they come from, and why they belong together. Tell me the backstory: what inspired the dish, what it means to the chef, and how it connects to the place I am visiting.

I want that conversation. I ask questions because I am interested, and those answers can become as memorable as the food itself.

If I am eating something unfamiliar, I want to understand it. If a familiar ingredient arrives in a form I barely recognize, I want to know how the kitchen got there. And if a dish draws on a tradition or a childhood memory, I want to hear that story while I am tasting it.

That is part of what I am paying for. The explanation gives me something to think about, and the conversation makes the experience personal.

I also want something to take home. Give me the menu, the dish cards, the little pieces of the experience I can look through afterward. I photograph plenty, but I love having something that helps me remember what I ate and the stories that came with it.

Evvai’s pop-art cards are exactly the kind of detail I mean. They gave me an explanation and description of the dishes, along with a sense of what inspired their creation. I could connect what I was tasting to the idea behind it, then take that reminder home.

The artwork added to the fun. The cards made the explanations something I wanted to keep, and they gave me another way to revisit the meal afterward. MICHELIN notes that the accompanying illustrations are drawn by chef Luiz Filipe Souza himself, which makes them feel even more connected to the person creating the food.

Thank you, Luiz Filipe.

Those details matter when I get home and try to explain why a meal stayed with me. A card can bring back a dish, its inspiration, and the conversation around it in a way that a photograph of the plate alone might not.

At D.O.M., I even bought one of their napkins to take home. Alex Atala’s punk-rock background connected with me because I was once a punk rocker, too.

So yes, I went out for a tasting menu and bought a napkin. Completely unnecessary? Probably. But that little connection turned it into a souvenir I wanted to keep.

The same goes for the drinks. Evvai and Disfrutar have both made me custom cocktails. Those moments made me feel special because someone took the time to make a drink for me.

At The Modern, I loved the drink I was having so much that I never asked for a custom one. Sometimes finding something you want to order again is enough.

For me, great service means sharing that enthusiasm. I want to feel comfortable asking questions, hear the stories behind the cooking, and leave knowing more than I did when I arrived. That is a big part of whether I want to return.

Pacing matters as much as the number of courses

A long meal needs room for conversation and time to enjoy what is already in front of you. When booking, ask how long the experience usually takes rather than guessing from the course count. If you have theater tickets, a flight, or another fixed commitment afterward, tell the restaurant before committing to the reservation.

The right format also depends on the people at your table. Someone who enjoys hearing about every preparation may love an evening like this. Someone who wants a relaxed dinner without frequent explanations may prefer another setting. Both are reasonable ways to enjoy a meal.

Why Travel for Food When I Live in New York?

People ask me this, and I understand the question.

I live in New York. I love the food scene here. Within reach of home, I can find an extraordinary range of cuisines, prices, and acclaimed restaurants. I do not have to board a plane to eat well.

But when I travel for a meal, I am also traveling for the people, the place, and the culture around it.

Learning about Brazil at a table in São Paulo, exploring Catalan food history in Barcelona, or arriving in Peru and immediately ordering too much at Astrid y Gastón gives the food a different context. The conversations, the surroundings, and everything I experience before and after dinner become part of the memory.

I can love New York’s restaurants and still want to experience those things where they happen. That is why the journey is worth it to me.

Would I Pay for It Again?

That is the question I trust most after dinner.

So, are tasting menus worth it? I judge that by whether I would pay for the experience again—not by how famous the restaurant is.

Would I choose this restaurant again, knowing the full cost? Would I recommend it to someone who had saved for one special meal? Can I explain what made it worth doing beyond its reputation?

Sometimes a tasting menu introduces me to food, wine, and people I will remember for years. Sometimes ordering a few dishes is exactly enough. And sometimes I order far too many. We have covered that.

Harvest helped open my palate. Kazuo and Evvai brought that curiosity back. The meals since then have kept giving me reasons to follow it.

This has become part of my lifestyle and something that gives me drive. There is another table I want to sit at, another place I want to understand, and another experience worth working toward.

That is why I keep going to work, earning the money, doing the research, and making the reservation.

Completely unnecessary. Absolutely worth it. When the restaurant earns it.

What is the most you have spent on dinner—and, knowing what you know now, would you pay for it again? Tell me in the comments.