What Your Favourite Restaurant Order Says About You (A Fun Guide)

You Can Tell a Lot About Someone by What They Order

There is a moment in every group dinner that reveals more about the people at the table than an hour of small talk ever could. It is the moment the waiter arrives, pen poised, and asks: "Are you ready to order?"

Watch carefully. One person answers immediately, without looking at the menu. Another panics and asks for five more minutes. Someone orders exactly what their neighbour just ordered. And there is always — always — someone who asks whether the kitchen can do something that is not on the menu.

These are not random behaviours. They are personality signatures, written in the language of food. And while this guide is firmly tongue-in-cheek, there is real psychology behind the idea that what you eat says something meaningful about who you are. Research published in Psychology Today found genuine correlations between food preferences and personality traits. A 2015 study linked openness to experience with more adventurous eating habits, while other research found that people who score high on sensation-seeking scales are more likely to enjoy spicy foods, meats, and bold flavours.

So let us meet the cast of characters you will find at any dinner table — and perhaps recognise yourself along the way.

The Loyalist: "I'll Have the Steak, Please"

You know this person. You might be this person. The Loyalist walks into every restaurant with a plan that was formed approximately thirty seconds after they learned to read a menu. Steak. Medium-rare. Chips on the side. Maybe a peppercorn sauce if they are feeling wild. The same order, every time, regardless of the restaurant, the occasion, or the fact that they are sitting in a sushi bar.

The Loyalist is not boring. They are efficient. They know what they like, and they see no reason to gamble their evening's enjoyment on an unfamiliar dish that might be disappointing. There is a quiet confidence in the Loyalist's approach — a refusal to be swayed by trends, specials boards, or the enthusiastic recommendations of waiters who clearly have a vested interest in shifting the sea bass.

Psychology backs this up. Research into food personality types suggests that people who consistently choose familiar foods tend to score higher on conscientiousness. They are reliable, consistent, and value predictability — qualities that make them excellent friends, even if their restaurant choices are somewhat predictable. They are the people who always show up on time, always remember your birthday, and always order the steak.

The Adventurer: "What's the Most Unusual Thing on the Menu?"

At the opposite end of the spectrum sits the Adventurer — the person who treats every menu as a dare. They want the dish they cannot pronounce. They want the ingredient they have never heard of. They want whatever the chef has just invented and is not entirely sure about.

The Adventurer is driven by curiosity. They are the one who ordered octopus before it was fashionable, who tried fermented anything before it appeared on Instagram, and who genuinely enjoyed that time they ate deep-fried crickets at a street food market in Exeter. Devon's food scene is a playground for this type — there is always a new producer, a new dish, a new flavour to discover.

Research into food neophilia — the love of trying new foods — found that adventurous eaters tend to score high on openness to experience, one of the Big Five personality traits. They are curious, creative, and open to new ideas, both on and off the plate. A study covered by Psychology Today noted that individuals high in openness are typically more willing to explore diverse cuisines and embrace novel eating experiences.

The Adventurer is a brilliant dinner companion, because their enthusiasm is contagious. They make everyone at the table a little braver. They are also the reason you once tried something you genuinely loved but would never have ordered yourself.

The Agoniser: "Can I Have Five More Minutes?"

The waiter has been round twice. The rest of the table ordered ten minutes ago. Their starters are arriving. And the Agoniser is still staring at the menu as though it contains the answer to a question they have not yet fully understood.

The Agoniser does not have trouble reading. They have trouble choosing. Every dish sounds good. Every option has merit. What if they order the risotto and it is disappointing, but the person next to them gets the lamb and it is life-changing? What if the fish is the best thing on the menu but they order the pasta and spend the entire meal wondering?

This is not indecisiveness in the clinical sense. It is a form of optimisation anxiety — the fear of making a suboptimal choice in a world of abundant options. The psychologist Barry Schwartz called this the "paradox of choice": the more options we have, the harder it becomes to commit to any single one, and the less satisfied we tend to be with whatever we eventually pick.

The Agoniser often has a rich inner life and a keen awareness of possibility. They are imaginative, sensitive, and deeply invested in getting things right. The challenge is that "right" is a moving target when there are seventeen mains and you can only order one.

If you are dining with an Agoniser, do not rush them. Their eventual choice will be thoughtful and usually excellent. And they will almost certainly want to try a bit of yours.

The Copycat: "I'll Have What She's Having"

The Copycat waits. They listen to everyone else order. They weigh up the options — not the options on the menu, but the options already chosen by their companions. And then, with the serene confidence of someone who has just outsourced a difficult decision, they say: "That sounds lovely. I'll have the same."

Before you judge the Copycat, consider the possibility that they are playing a smarter game than everyone else. Social psychologists have long established that humans use social proof — the behaviour of others — as a decision-making shortcut, particularly in situations of uncertainty. Ordering what someone else has ordered is not laziness. It is a rational strategy for minimising risk in an unfamiliar environment.

The Copycat also tends to be highly attuned to social dynamics. They are good listeners. They pick up on what other people enjoy. They are the person who remembers your favourite restaurant and suggests going there for your birthday. Their food choices may be derivative, but their social intelligence is first-rate.

There is also a bonding element to the Copycat's strategy. Ordering the same dish as someone else creates a shared experience — you can compare notes, swap opinions, and engage in the micro-level collaboration that turns a meal into a meaningful act of connection. It is mimicry as a social tool, and humans have been doing it for millennia.

The Off-Menu Orderer: "Can the Chef Do Something Special?"

Every table has one. The person who views the menu not as a list of options but as a starting point for negotiation. Can the steak be cooked in butter instead of oil? Can the salad come without the dressing but with extra avocado? Can the chef do something that is not actually on the menu but that they had at another restaurant three months ago?

The Off-Menu Orderer is not trying to be difficult. They are expressing a fundamental belief that the world should accommodate their preferences, and — crucially — that it usually will if they ask politely enough. This person tends to score high on extraversion and agreeableness. They are comfortable making requests, unfazed by the possibility of rejection, and genuinely surprised when the kitchen says no.

In a restaurant context, their behaviour is mildly annoying. In life, it is genuinely useful. The Off-Menu Orderer is the person who negotiates a better deal, asks for the upgrade, and gets the last seat on the train. They operate on the principle that the worst anyone can say is no — and they are almost always right.

The Starter-as-Main Person: "I'll Just Have Two Small Plates"

This person has quietly revolutionised their own dining experience and would like you to know about it. Why commit to one large dish when you can have two starters and experience twice as many flavours? Why follow the conventional structure of starter-main-dessert when you can create your own bespoke tasting menu from the first page of the menu?

The Starter-as-Main person is an innovator. They reject the premise that meals should follow a prescribed format. They are the kind of person who reads a self-help book and skips to the chapter that interests them. They are pragmatic, creative, and slightly suspicious of anyone who tells them there is only one way to do things.

Research into food behaviour suggests that people who break conventional eating patterns tend to be more open to experience and less bound by social norms. They are comfortable making choices that others might question, and they have usually thought about it more carefully than anyone gives them credit for.

They are also, it should be noted, usually right. Two starters often is better than one main. The portions are more interesting, the variety is greater, and you get to feel smug about it for the rest of the evening.

The Sharer: "Shall We Get a Few Things for the Table?"

The Sharer does not want their own dish. The Sharer wants everyone's dish. They want to order seven plates, put them in the middle, and let the table descend into a beautiful, chaotic, collaborative eating experience where boundaries are fluid and ownership is meaningless.

The Sharer is the most communal diner at the table. They understand something fundamental about eating that many people miss: food is more enjoyable when it is shared. A single dish, however excellent, provides one experience. A table full of shared plates provides a dozen — plus the social lubricant of passing, recommending, debating, and occasionally fighting over the last piece of flatbread.

This instinct is deeply rooted. The role of food in emotional wellbeing is well documented, and communal eating — the kind where plates are shared and conversation flows between bites — triggers stronger social bonding than individual dining. Professor Robin Dunbar's research at Oxford found that people who eat socially more often are happier, more trusting, and more connected to their communities.

The Sharer knows this intuitively. They may never have read a psychology paper in their life, but they understand that the best meals are the ones where nobody is quite sure whose plate is whose.

The Health-Conscious Orderer: "Is the Dressing on the Side?"

This person has read the menu in advance. They have checked whether the restaurant caters to their dietary requirements. They know the calorie count of the sweet potato fries versus the regular chips, and they have made their peace with choosing the salad.

The Health-Conscious Orderer is not trying to make anyone feel guilty. They are managing a relationship with food that is more complicated than most people realise. In a culture where the dinner table can feel like a sanctuary, their careful ordering is not restriction — it is a way of feeling safe enough to enjoy the social experience without anxiety.

Research consistently links conscientious eating habits with higher scores on — you guessed it — conscientiousness. These individuals tend to be organised, health-aware, and future-oriented. They are the friends who always have a plan, who remember to book the restaurant, and who will definitely outlive the rest of us.

The Speed Orderer: "I Already Know What I Want"

The menu has not even arrived, and this person has decided. They glanced at it online three days ago, made their choice in roughly four seconds, and have spent the intervening time thinking about literally anything else. When the waiter appears, they order first, speak quickly, and then turn their full attention to the conversation.

The Speed Orderer values efficiency above all else. They view the menu as a problem to be solved, not an experience to be savoured. Their decisiveness extends well beyond restaurants — they are the person who books holidays in twenty minutes, chooses a Netflix film without scrolling for an hour, and never, ever returns a purchase.

What This All Really Means

Here is the thing about food and personality: it is not a perfect science. Your restaurant order is shaped by dozens of factors — mood, budget, who you are with, what you had for lunch, whether you are trying to impress someone, whether you are hungover. A single order on a single evening does not define you.

But patterns do emerge. The way you approach a menu is, in a small but real way, the way you approach life. Are you cautious or adventurous? Do you follow convention or forge your own path? Do you decide quickly or deliberate endlessly? Do you eat alone or invite everyone to share?

These are not just food questions. They are life questions. And they are exactly the kind of questions that make a dinner with new people so endlessly fascinating. Every table is a collection of personalities, preferences, and stories — and the food is the catalyst that brings them all out.

That is why the best social dining experiences are not really about the food at all. They are about the people. The menu agoniser who turns out to be a brilliant conversationalist. The steak loyalist who has the driest sense of humour you have ever encountered. The sharer who makes everyone feel included from the first course. The adventurer who convinces you to try something you end up loving.

Food choices tell stories. They are conversation starters, personality reveals, and — at their best — invitations to connect. The next time you sit down at a table full of people you do not know, pay attention to what everyone orders. It will tell you more about them than an hour of small talk ever could.

And if someone orders the prawn cocktail, tell them they are keeping a grand British tradition alive.