Experiencing Paris Without Its Dining Scene

InIn 2015, the people of Paris were hailed as brave. Just two days after the November 13 terrorist attacks, locals flocked back to their favorite cafés and bars, defying any attempts to disrupt their lifestyle. This act of solidarity and cultural pride was a powerful response to grief. Now, however, the rigorous measures implemented to curb COVID-19 are putting that same spirit to the test—along with the restaurants and bars that are essential to Parisian life.

On Tuesday, March 17 at noon, the city entered a minimum 15-day period of mandatory lockdown. Only essential outings are allowed, and anyone leaving home must carry a signed and dated document justifying their time outside. Observing the streets from our windows feels both eerie and serene. Yet, the empty storefronts and profound silence serve as a stark reminder of the arduous journey ahead, particularly for the food sector. Exhausted bakers and supermarket workers must persevere through this crisis, while restaurant owners face an uncertain future regarding government support and the possibility of reopening their doors.

The announcement of the impending lockdown on Monday followed days filled with initial defiance, followed by growing anxiety. President Emmanuel Macron’s administration issued clear warnings, mirroring those in Italy: The only effective way to combat the virus was through strict physical and social distancing and rigorous hygiene protocols. The customary la bise (kiss) to greet friends had to cease; sitting close together in cafés and on terraces was highly discouraged; and soon enough, the very idea of dining out was rendered impossible. However, before the lockdown, Parisians resisted: Whether out of carefree disregard or skepticism toward government advice, few followed the guidance to stay home.

“On ne peut pas nous empêcher de vivre!” We won’t let this stop us from living! I've heard this phrase countless times, and it often rings true: One of the remarkable traits of the French is their ability to find reasons to celebrate in daily life. Since food and wine are integral to these celebrations, there’s deep-rooted support for restaurant and bar owners, many of whom feel like family. Before the pandemic, popping in for a quick coffee or a glass of wine with a snack had become small gestures to assist business owners who had barely survived the turbulent months of weekly gilets jaunes protests and the pension reform strikes in late 2019. As the reality of the virus loomed, locals questioned how to respond: Should they allow restaurants and bars to suffer?

In the hours after Prime Minister Edouard Philippe declared on Saturday, March 14, that all nonessential businesses—except pharmacies, banks, supermarkets, tobacco shops, and bakeries—would close until further notice, many Parisians hurried out for a final celebration before confinement. “One last drink!” echoed from passersby on my street as they flocked to crowded bars and cafés. Some gathered outdoors, raising glasses and sharing plates of charcuterie and cheese, laughing heartily as if it were their last meal. Others crowded inside, either oblivious to or ignoring the risks of gathering in their beloved spots.

The first day under the new restrictions felt only slightly quieter than the usual Sunday buzz: While brunch and coffee shop crowds had disappeared, shoppers still flocked to open-air markets with little concern for social distancing. Bakeries, vital to Parisian culture, continued to thrive. The most cautious ones allowed only a few customers at a time. Inside, tape marked one-meter intervals on the floor, reminding patrons of the necessary distance, and for the most part, customers complied with the guidelines.

However, the potential devastating effects of the shutdown on the food industry were evident on Instagram, where restaurants began organizing pickups for leftover stock and ingredients. The sudden closures left chefs and owners scrambling to adapt: In his Instagram stories, Nicolas Alary of Holybelly expressed his dilemma of wanting to minimize food waste while keeping clients and staff safe from gathering outside his restaurant. “We had prepared for 600 covers, which is our usual Sunday volume across both restaurants,” he noted. “We can’t store all this, and we can only take home so much. If we had 48 hours’ notice, we could have managed. Restaurants operate like complex machines with many moving parts; you can’t just turn them off without consequences.”

Ultimately, Alary and his partner, chef Sarah Mouchot, opted to sell one ton of ingredients—valued at around 10,000 euros—to customers who brought their own bags for pickup. In return, they asked for a small donation. Other businesses followed suit: Daroco, an Italian restaurant, organized a collection for perishable items it couldn't store; Marc Grossman of Bob’s Bake Shop left perishable goods and fruit outside for passersby to take; and Ten Belles Bread distributed sourdough starter to aspiring home bakers. Some establishments could shift to delivery to keep operations running, albeit at reduced capacity, but many lacked the resources to make such a change. Even for those that could, delivery is not a sustainable long-term solution—a harsh reality also facing restaurants in the U.S. as they contend with similar challenges.

By Sunday night, March 15, the earlier excitement in the streets had subsided, leaving neighborhoods across Paris in an unsettling silence akin to Christmas Day. On Monday, the looming fear of an extended ban on social gatherings became more tangible as corner cafés, brasseries, and lively bars—the heartbeat of each arrondissement—remained closed. Bistro chairs and marble tables, usually found on the sidewalks, were stacked indoors like a game of Tetris. Signs on windows indicated the health precautions being taken—remnants of the measures from before the shutdown, expected to remain until the crisis passes.

The closing of Paris’s food and wine scene is unsettling not just because these venues provide constant, comforting activity, but also due to its historical rarity: Even during the Nazi occupation, Parisian restaurants never completely shut down. This marks only the second time since its 1947 opening that Au Pied du Cochon, a 24/7 brasserie beloved by chefs for late-night meals, has closed (the first being for renovations in 1989).

In his address to the nation on Monday night, Macron assured that no business, large or small, would be allowed to fail; labor costs and tax payments would be deferred, with additional support (details forthcoming) expected in the days ahead. However, as it stands, a health crisis of this magnitude isn’t covered by the insurance policies restaurant owners hold. Chef-owner Stéphane Jégo of L’Ami Jean is leading efforts to pressure the government to ensure insurance companies consider such unprecedented situations. “Many businesses, both small and large, will disappear if no action is taken,” he told L’Hôtellerie Restauration. “Do we accept defeat or do we fight for survival?”

Paris, much like New York, feels drastically altered without the bars, restaurants, and cafés that bring it to life. The brief daily interactions with bartenders and baristas are vital to our social fabric, and their absence leaves us feeling incomplete. If Parisians genuinely care about preserving access to these cherished experiences—rights we hold dear—then we must prepare for the necessary battle to save the industry from collapse.

In a city where dining and drinking are essential to both living and visiting, the prospect of beloved restaurants and cafés remaining closed should give us pause. It compels us to envision a Paris devoid of its vibrant chefs and entrepreneurs, coffee roasters, and bartenders. It forces us to contemplate our role in revitalizing the industry once the pandemic has passed. Rebuilding the moments around the table that we treasure will require all of us, including consumers, to take part.

Lindsey Tramuta is a Paris-based writer and the author of The New Paris and The New Parisienne: The Women & Ideas Shaping Paris.