But before you, too, dive into this dining sport, consider yourself warned. Pop-ups require the digging of a detective and the zen of a Buddhist monk: following chefs on Instagram; patiently waiting for them to announce their next dinner; enduring long lines and bumpy service and — sometimes — rowdy diners who have been guzzling martinis on empty stomachs for two hours while they wait for the food to show up. (OK, fine, that was me.)
Once you’ve accepted this fact, you will be rewarded with dining experiences, both one-off collaborations and long-term residencies, that are often utterly remarkable — in part because they are ephemeral. You may fall deeply in love with the chicken Parmesan sandwich at Bette’s, in awe of how the golden cutlet retains its crunchy exterior despite being set between slices of pillowy milkbread and buried under a blanket of melted provolone and a ladle of zippy tomato sauce. But you have to leave knowing you may never taste it again: Bette’s hasn’t announced any future dates.
For chefs, pop-ups offer both benefits and drawbacks. While a restaurant requires a significant financial investment, all a chef needs to start a pop-up is unbridled passion and a hell of a lot of sweat equity. That’s why you’ll often find pop-up menus laser-focused on a single item, usually the result of an obsessive dedication to perfection.
Profit is rarely the main motivation. Chefs aren’t likely to reach financial stability exclusively selling Swedish hot dogs or smashburgers or a highly specific style of regional pizza. The only hope is that they might attract investors or accolades that can help them get there, a financial gamble I’ll be exploring in another story.
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