Ask the waiter where they eat

The accounts’ tells, in the order they trust them. Who is inside: three separate conversations say look for people who plainly live or work there — the lunch table of construction workers, the office crowd, the long queue with no tourists in it — and one account says the places full of construction crews are cheaper and better than the ones full of people at desks; an empty room in a busy street at a mealtime is the strongest warning, and two conversations say a room that looks terrible in a nice street is the find. The menu: three conversations say a menu only in the local language leans toward food cooked for people who eat there weekly; two conversations say eating where you cannot read the menu is a fair gamble but not the plan, and one caution says a place that sees you cannot read it may charge you more. The size of the menu: one account says a very long menu means a freezer, because no kitchen cooks a menu that long fresh. The door: one objection says a waiter posted outside to pull you in is a place that needs pulling. Reviews: three conversations say the review sites fail exactly here, because visitors rate the trap food highly with nothing to compare it to and the people who live there do not review their weekday places; one account reads the hygiene rating card in the window where a city displays one. Two heuristics the accounts discarded: the flight-crew one, which one correction with two accounts says is weak because most crew pack food or eat in lounges, and the ‘first customer of the night is a bad sign’ one, which one account says produced their best meal of a trip at a fish place that had just opened its doors. One correction adds that if you do get ill, the meal you blame need not be the meal that did it — food poisoning can take days to show — and another says the culprit abroad is as likely to be unfamiliar water as a bad kitchen.

Sometimes, and the accounts say how to tell. One exchange crosses conversations, two accounts to four, on whether staff recommendations can be trusted: the two say servers and cooks know the trade in their own city and send you to friends’ places because the friends are good; the four say the recommendation can be steered — a kickback from the restaurant down the road, a server suggesting you come back to their own place for breakfast, or simply a server who cannot afford the best table in town and sends you where they can. The accounts’ tells: ask for a place unlike the one you are in — a different cuisine, a different price — so there is nothing to steer toward; ask the person at the next table who looks like they know, one account says, because they have no stake at all; and two conversations say to ask the people who live and work in the neighbourhood rather than the hotel desk, because one account says concierges have arrangements. Two exchanges, one to one and two to two, argue whether the asking itself is rude or a burden, and the accounts who have worked in restaurants say it is neither — one prevalence note carries three accounts saying asking staff leads to good finds, and two single notes call it common and welcome — and one account says a good tip and a kind review are the thanks. How to tell a genuine local tip from a steer with certainty is a gap in these conversations, answered only with these tells.

Four separate conversations say yes — the restaurants touching the famous square are dearer and worse, and a few blocks changes both — and these conversations then argue with themselves for the rest of the page, so this one gives you the argument and a rule that survives it. Against the walk: two conversations say that in some cities the whole centre is tourist and the walk does not end, and in countries where every sign is in your language the tell does not exist; one account says walking from a famous ruin leads to a burger chain, not a local kitchen; two conversations say heavy foot traffic can support excellent restaurants, one account says some famous rooms are famous because they are good, and one exchange runs three accounts to one the other way, for asking staff to steer you off the beaten path. Then the envelope, which is the reason the fork above prints no winner: eight contraindications and a dozen cautions in these conversations say that in some cities and some countries the streets beyond the tourist centre are not safe for a stranger, especially alone or at night, and that in some regions the water and the food outside the well-trodden places carry a real risk of serious illness — the accounts name the places, and this page does not, because the list would be wrong the day it was printed; one exchange in a single conversation runs five accounts to four on exactly this, and one contraindication says not to gamble on unfamiliar food before a long train or flight. The rule that survives: ask first whether the streets beyond the centre are safe for someone who does not know them — the same people you are asking about dinner will tell you — and where water is a risk, eat where the kitchen is visible and busy at the local mealtime, which one account says is when the food has not been sitting. Two conversations add that a few blocks off the main street can be both good and expensive, and one account says the ‘authentic’ you are chasing is a picture and the word they prefer is ‘traditional’; another says what people were actually after was a fair price for a good plate.