Bernard O'Shea: A foolproof, three-step guide to surviving dining out with your kids

On our first day back in over two years as a family eating out, I was reminded of their innate ability to open vinegar sachets in under three seconds

Bernard O'Shea: Eating out with my beautiful, loved, cherished, adored children is sometimes like an MMA pre-show weigh-in. It all starts relaxed. Everybody is laughing and exchanging good-natured vibes until someone crosses the line, and then it all kicks off.

On our first day back in over two years as a family eating out in a restaurant, I was reminded of the joys of going to lunch with three kids.

I missed restaurants more than anything else that was closed during the lockdown. The smell of a pub has its lures, but my stomach has won out in deciding where I plonk my butt when I get a chance to go, as Micky Flanagan would say “out-out” over the last few years.

I never fully realised or appreciated how lovely it was to eat on your own before we had kids. I would sometimes even sit in a pub or restaurant on my own and happily munch away for hours on end. Reading the paper and glancing up at some horse race on the telly, pretending I’m interested in it all on my own. Imagine that -  ON MY OWN.

Now with three kids, it’s a different ordeal. Growing up, we never dined out as a family. We didn’t have the money. That was only for families on US sitcoms. Now that’s changed. However, eating out with my beautiful, loved, cherished, adored (I’m building up to something here) children is sometimes like an MMA pre-show weigh-in. It all starts relaxed. Everybody is laughing and exchanging good-natured vibes until someone crosses the line, and then it all kicks off. Tempers ignite, and someone will inevitably throw water everywhere.

I've learned a three-step strategy over the years that has isn’t foolproof but has become my mantra when eating out with tiny people.

1. Sit beside the entrance

It sounds counter-intuitive, especially if you have runners, but there are two brilliant reasons why I try to do this. 

Firstly, the entrance into a pub or restaurant is the original Instagram. You can quickly look at them as people walk through the door; you’re flicking through the posted pics with your thumb. Except this is the live stage version. 

Unlike adults, kids stare and comment openly on everyone who walks in. It keeps them entertained and gives them something to look at. You need to police it a bit; mostly, it’s very good-natured. My daughter has shouted “I LOVE YOUR HAIR” across crowded rooms. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m also that parent who will also give them my phone to watch, but this is much more interactive. But the best reason to sit beside the entrance? Well, it’s the exit too. 

It’s a quick portal that enables you to evacuate screaming kids quickly from an area—allowing others to enjoy their dinners in peace, and you can avoid the walk of shame through a crowded, tightly packed restaurant.

2. Clear the table

Our kids are obsessed with everything that’s on a restaurant table. It’s as if they have never seen cutlery in their lives. Then there’s the water situation. Why do they become utterly infatuated with jugs of water and ice? I do not know. Anyone looking at our table would think, “Does that man never give his children water? They are parched.” 

There have been way too many rows about who has more ice-cubes in their glass. It also freaks me out because I know they will swallow one whole and choke. Then there are the fancy salt and pepper dispensers. Before myself and my wife even sit down, they have produced a seasoned Jackson Pollock across the table. 

And as for the napkins, I always stuff them into my jacket pocket. Why? Because I know I’m going to need them at some stage. Then their wolf-like eyes lock in on the little outdoor jail that holds the plastic packages of sauces. 

Suppose you were to ask any parent what natural talent their children possess. Some might say music, sport or art. I would say that all my children have an innate ability to find the vinegar sachet and open it within three seconds of sitting down at a table. There’s nothing like the lingering smell of vinegar to accompany yours and everybody else’s lunchtime. 

If you own a family restaurant and see us coming, clear everything off the table. Those lovely accoutrements you have purchased to add value to the dining experience will only become weapons in my children’s hands.

3. Sit beside the screams

You are never alone. There is always another wrecking crew nearby. As loud and messy you think your dining experience is, there is always someone else going through it nearby. Find them. Sit beside them. Embrace them. 

As Liam Neeson said in the film Taken, “I can tell you I don't have money. But I have a very particular set of skills and skills I have acquired over a very long career,” You can share the burden of picking up toys and beakers off the ground. You can be safe knowing that your kin hasn’t instantly acquired several kidney infections because those other kids are also obsessed with going to the toilet and using the Dyson hand dryer. 

But it is the combined skill set of distraction that will allow you to shove your now cold chicken burger down your gullet while also saying, “I spy with my little eye …” It also shows consideration to those couples and individuals who have popped in independently. To sit down in peace and mutter phrases to themselves like, “I wonder if I’ll have a starter, sure I’m in no rush.” 

“I think I’ll sit here all day and watch the match.” 

“God, I’m so bored. Oh, look a horse race!” 

They can scan the space and see that the vinegar squishers are far, far away in their corner.

One thing is for sure, however. It is fecking great. Regardless of who you are with, the country is open again, especially those that provide nosebags. Now I have to practice my stern warning, “If you don’t eat your dinner, you won’t be getting ice cream.” 

Who am I kidding? We’re getting ice cream.