A Look at the Future of Dining in China

I’d like to be the first to assure you that there is indeed life beyond the novel coronavirus. In Beijing, following nearly two months filled with fear, lockdowns, and emergency protocols, a sense of normalcy is gradually returning to the Chinese capital. Despite a surge in global infections, last Thursday marked a significant milestone for China as it reported no new domestic COVID-19 cases. While many residential complexes remain off-limits to outsiders, gaining access to some of the city's narrower streets requires a residency card and temperature screening. Additionally, anyone arriving from abroad must now quarantine for two weeks in an official facility. However, Beijing is no longer the desolate place it once was. Today, you'll find people gathering in public areas and customers queuing to enter the Apple store. You might almost believe that everything is back to normal—until you observe the city's dining establishments.

Beijing’s culinary scene is still feeling the profound effects of COVID-19. Even with a reduction in new cases, strict regulations on restaurants remain, and diners are hesitant to share spaces and meals. While various businesses, from hardware shops to massage parlors, have reopened in the past fortnight, many restaurants continue to be closed. Those that have managed to remain operational have had to adapt their business models. If Beijing’s revival offers any insight into the future of dining worldwide, it suggests a challenging path ahead for restaurants everywhere.

“We’ve certainly seen a rise in customers each week,” states Ignace Lecleir, owner of Beijing’s Temple Restaurant Group. Known for its successful fine dining venues such as TRB Forbidden City, only the most casual of the group's four restaurants, TRB Hulu, remained open throughout the crisis. This all-day Mytoury began offering delivery services in January after the first emergency measures were implemented, and despite the reopening of dining areas and an increasing number of patrons, Lecleir reports that about 70 percent of their business now comes from deliveries, with just 30 percent from dine-in customers.

There are ongoing restrictions on capacity, which limit how many guests Hulu can accommodate at any given moment. “We had to remove half of our tables,” Lecleir explains. “There’s been discussion about allowing only one person per table, but currently, we’re permitted to seat three people…”

His uncertainty is palpable—there's been a notable lack of consistency and clarity in how the local government communicates orders to Beijing's food sector. “Sometimes officials modify our procedures without anything documented, so it’s mainly verbal announcements,” Lecleir explains. Initially, the Beijing government never mandated a full shutdown of restaurants. When the crisis began, most were already closed for the Chinese New Year holiday, which typically lasts one to two weeks. This holiday was extended by 10 days to address the outbreak, but many restaurants chose not to reopen afterward due to low customer turnout. Others faced neighborhood restrictions or staffing shortages.

Nathan Zhang operates Cravings to Longfusi, a restaurant specializing in dishes from China's southwestern Yunnan province, but it remains closed because the area is off-limits to the public. “No one is allowed in, so I effectively have no customers,” Zhang states. While the restaurant has tried to rely on delivery, it struggles with a confusing array of regulations.

Without an official restaurant closure order, the Beijing government issued guidelines that have continually evolved over time. These guidelines are determined at a local level by neighborhood committees and district officials, leading to inconsistencies in enforcement from one restaurant to another. For instance, Jing A requires customers to register their temperatures and limits them to two per table, while a nearby cafe allows patrons to enter freely and sit in larger groups. Some restaurants circumvent limits on group sizes by spreading patrons across adjacent tables. “Everyone has different requirements, and you have to fill out forms three times a day, or they might suddenly change their policies, which is exhausting,” Zhang says. “I don’t believe they all follow the same rules, making things even more challenging.”

“Not many customers are coming in to eat,” remarked a server at Yiqingyuan Lanzhou Beef Noodles during a recent visit. “Even delivery isn’t faring well. People are too anxious.” Convincing diners to feel comfortable eating out again is one of the industry’s most significant challenges. Many customers are hesitant. In response, numerous delivery orders now include cards listing the names and temperatures of all staff who prepared the food. Additionally, chains like Jin Ding Xuan provide notes outlining their disinfection protocols. On the delivery app Meituan, the cartoon delivery person that tracks your order’s progress now wears a mask.

Ongoing social distancing measures aim to alleviate concerns as well. The popular bubble tea chain Heytea, known for its long lines, now has customers scan a QR code on the door to access an illustrated guide detailing the shop’s safety practices. Customers can then place their orders and receive notifications for when to pick them up at the entrance. In the vicinity of Beijing’s old alleyways, staff at Gulou Mantou Shop have begun using a small slide to deliver steamed buns instead of handing them to customers, and they request that payments be made via mobile methods only.

Mobile payments represent a significant technological shift resulting from COVID-19. While numerous restaurants in Beijing already accepted mobile payments, many older, traditional establishments operated without any digital presence. “I believe being offline is virtually impossible now,” says Zhang Yipeng, one of the owners of the local cafe chain Big Small Coffee. Even prior to the pandemic, a growing middle class and widespread mobile payment systems had driven a delivery boom in major cities across China. Zhang estimated that around 15 to 20 percent of her cafe’s sales came from deliveries before, which has now increased to 20 to 30 percent. Although this is less than a restaurant like TRB Hulu, it is significant for a cafe initially designed as a social venue. “The future impact will be that most businesses will think about integrating offline with online,” Zhang adds, “and everyone will seek to diversify their income sources.”

For Catilin Ichim, co-owner of the upscale Sichuan restaurant Transit, a major challenge has been finding a way to offer food for delivery while maintaining the appeal of luxury dining. Ichim’s solution involved launching a sub-brand with slightly lower prices, which offers partially prepared meal kits and spicy chili sauce. “We can’t reduce the price too much since we’re still providing a high-quality product,” Ichim explains, “but adjustments are necessary. Without any added services or the luxury experience that diners expect, keeping the same prices isn’t feasible.”

From high-end dining establishments to small neighborhood noodle shops, no one has been able to fully compensate for the overall income loss caused by COVID-19 through delivery. Furthermore, the new visible safety measures have not succeeded in restoring customer volumes to pre-pandemic levels. This trend is concerning for the future of restaurants globally as cities work to control the virus and gradually lift quarantines and other restrictions over the coming months.

“Regardless of whether there’s an outbreak, people will likely become more cautious with their spending afterward,” remarks Zhang Yipeng from Big Small Coffee. “I’m not particularly optimistic about consumer spending, even as the epidemic subsides.”