You’re at a restaurant. You’ve just spent out $600 on a small-plate lunch, so surely slipping one tiny silver spoon into your pocket is… acceptable?
Apparently, it is. At least according to millions of restaurant-goers around the world. A survey run by Nisbets revealed that 27 percent of British adults – roughly 17 million people – have stolen tableware items from a restaurant or bar. To put that number into context, in 2023 this cost the restaurant industry €220m (approx. $253m) in glassware alone.
Fine-dining restaurants have borne much of the brunt of this curious souvenir-stealing epidemic. Take Gordon Ramsay’s Lucky Cat, where the humble chopstick holder has apparently become something of a hot-ticket item. Speaking exclusively to Elite Traveler earlier this year, the celebrity chef revealed that “two and a half thousand [Lucky Cat chopsticks holders] get stolen every week.” Costing approximately £4.50 (approx. $6) each, that works out at almost £9,000 (approx. $12,175) disappearing from the restaurant group’s reserves every seven days. And by those figures, Ramsay’s chopstick holders are proving as sought-after – and theft-prone – as the iPhones and Patek Philippe watches being routinely snatched from London’s streets.
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But what, exactly, does one do with a solitary chopstick holder? Or a lone glass that has been separated from its matching set? These seemingly miscellaneous objects may have less to do with their practical purpose than with the memories and associations they come to represent. Dr Claudia Aymerich, consultant psychiatrist at Berkeley Psychiatrists, argues that “there can be lots of reasons [for souvenir theft], and often it isn’t about wanting or needing the object. Someone might be perfectly able to afford the glass or piece of cutlery they’ve taken. But taking it from a particular restaurant gives it a story.”
“There can be a sense of entitlement behind it too,” she adds. “If you’ve spent a lot of money somewhere, it’s quite easy to convince yourself that taking something small doesn’t really matter.”
One anonymous source, who admitted to making off with a trio of napkins from a swanky bar, defended the petty pilfering on the grounds that they “were so beautifully embroidered and I wanted them to serve drinks at home. I thought they would be good conversation starters.” Another, who pocketed coasters from Raffles’ Guard Bar, offered a more sentimental justification: “Sometimes I take objects because it’s like getting a personal and individual souvenir from a memorable trip that others won’t have.”
Perhaps some restaurants are inadvertently complicit in the thievery. Take Casa Monti in Rome, home to Casa Monti Ristorante, which launched the playfully titled ‘Stolen at Casa Monti’ capsule collection, inspired by ‘that moment when you walk into a place and wish you could steal a piece of it.’ Designed by Giotto Calendoli, the collection includes plates, matchboxes, pyjamas, and slippers, effectively turning the urge to steal into a viable commercial opportunity.
Other venues have been a little more willing to lean into the notoriety surrounding their stolen goods. Circolo Popolare in Fitzrovia, for instance, emblazoned ornamental fridge magnets with a warning: ‘Hey, dickhead, don’t steal these.’ And back in the 1990s, Quaglino’s – which is set to make its London comeback later this year – welcomed the PR buzz that came with the announcement of its 12,000 stolen ashtrays.
While most of us can safely agree that stealing is wrong, there is, evidently, something irresistible about pocketing a tiny memento of your experience – an object that can be taken home and repurposed. As Dr Aymerich says, “for some people, there’s simply a bit of excitement in doing something they know they shouldn’t and getting away with it. The glass itself might not be particularly valuable; it’s the act, and the story afterwards, that makes it appealing.”
