A potted history of dining al fresco

The phrase ‘dining al fresco’, is likely to conjure up a very European picture; cobbled streets with small tables, lots of wine and the warm sun beating down your back. 

In its native Italian, ‘al fresco’ really means ‘in the cool’, which is perhaps more appropriate than the British translation – ‘outdoor dining’. Or, much to the amusement of England-dwelling Italians, the term is often used to mean ‘in prison’ in Italy, due to the cold temperature of jail cells. Ironically, this year, al fresco dining is a symbol of our freedom. Lockdown has eased and we are once again allowed to eat and drink in the outdoor areas of pubs and restaurants. 

Eating outside is not a new phenomenon; street food has long existed across Africa and Asia and humans have been cooking over an open flame since the start of civilisation. But the history of more formal outdoor dining in the West spans back to medieval times when a large feast, made up of cooked meats, pastries and alcohol, would be served before setting off for a hunt; a tradition from which the Western picnic evolved. 

By the 18th century, picnics began to be enjoyed in ‘pleasure gardens’ across America. Families would pay to attend the large and well-kept grounds, often enjoying outdoor museums, theatres and ice creams on the lawns. By the 19th century, a growing German influence in the US meant many pleasure gardens became beer gardens, offering free lunches and lavish buffets alongside free-flowing beer. Following prohibition, these plots of land transformed once more into more puritan tea gardens.

As access to cars and public transport became more widespread in the 20th century, the concept of the picnic became increasingly popular. Inner-city dwellers could travel out to the countryside for the day, armed with trendy picnic baskets. But for all the dedication to barbecues and picnics in the park on an English summer’s day, our restaurants were slower to follow suit.

The short bursts of sun and unpredictable heat waves have always made investing in outdoor space and furniture a riskier option for British restaurateurs. But following the great reopening last week, I wonder if we underestimated our country’s thirst for rays.

The state of our economy partly depends on the current enthusiasm for outdoor dining. More than 60 streets in Westminster have seen a combination of timed closures and pavement widening to make space for outdoor dining and drinking. Liverpool’s mayor, Joe Anderson, invested £450,000 in redesigning the city’s outdoor space with European-style covered outdoor seating and in Greater Manchester, parts of the Northern Quarter and Deansgate have been pedestrianised. It seems to be working too: the ONS reported a 60 per cent increase in dinner reservations in the UK on Saturday 17 April, compared to the same date in 2019.

Almost everyone I know has donned an odd mix of winter coats and sunglasses to brave the oscillating weather and inconsistent heater provisions. Weekends now feel like a game of freedom bingo, crossing off the dinners, dates and drinks we have been dreaming of since December. Last Saturday, I went out for lunch at a restaurant with tables on both sides of the road. If you were seated on the left-hand side (as we luckily were) sunglasses and sunburn were on the menu. Meanwhile, on the right, unlucky diners sat shivering in the shade, shooting dirty looks at the pinkening skin across from them. But no amount of shade could dampen the British spirit, united with our boozers and freed from the shackles of washing up at last.

Whether it is a posh terrace with a gazebo and state of the art heaters or a few wobbly tables on a narrow pavement, al fresco dining is finally here to stay in Britain. And it doesn’t feel one bit like prison.