People with disabilities fear that permanent outdoor dining will make inaccessible cities even worse

Open Restaurants, as New York City’s outdoor dining program is called, requires ADA compliance, including three-foot pathways around every table, eight feet of clearance on sidewalks, and ramps to ensure wheelchair access to roadway seating. The issue is enforcement. On an afternoon walk along Atlantic Avenue, a major thoroughfare in downtown Brooklyn, and Court and Henry Streets, The Counter saw roadway dining rooms that didn’t have space between tables for wheelchairs. Four of the 15 open restaurants didn’t have their ADA ramps out.

Businesses that don’t meet requirements can lose their outdoor seating; customers can file a complaint by contacting 311, and a spokesperson for the Department of Transporation, which issues permits, says that inspectors are in the field. So far, DOT has received 16 ramp-related complaints.

“I’m not against restaurants, and restaurant workers particularly, making money,” Dooha said. “But it doesn’t need to be at the expense of civil rights.”

Two restaurant owners and managers contacted by The Counter say they have so far resisted making substantial investments in their roadway dining rooms because they thought Open Restaurants was temporary.

“We thought we’d have until Labor Day,” said Patricia Ageheim, co-owner of Chez Moi, a French bistro in Brooklyn that offers sidewalk seating, as well as parking lane tables that are ADA-accessible to patrons who request a ramp. “It was, ‘Let’s get something up quickly, so we can make use of the remaining months,’” she said, adding that she hasn’t had any problems accommodating guests with disabilities. But now that outdoor dining is forever, she’s met with a contractor about building a raised platform and adding heat lamps.

Prentiss and two other people with physical disabilities said they much prefer raised platforms that are flush with the sidewalk and obviate the need for ramps.

Nicholas Sakatis, owner of Moo Burger, a fast-casual operation, says he considered that pricier option but decided against it, fearing he would have to remove or rebuild his deck if regulations changed again. For now, he’s sticking with a home-made wood ramp that descends to three street-level tables.

“I would do anything I can to accommodate people that have disabilities,” he said. “But the city’s not always on the same page.”

Restaurateurs in other cities are waiting for clarification. Caroline Styne, the co-owner of A.O.C., a Los Angeles wine bar and restaurant, wants to add accessible sidewalk seating, but needs assurance that she won’t have to get rid of the furniture, which includes plexiglass barriers, in a few months’ time. (Outdoor dining in L.A. was recently extended to the end of the year, but hasn’t yet been made permanent.)

For now, she seats patrons in a patio courtyard, accessible via a front-door ramp, and in the parking lot, where tables have 42 inches of clearance.

“Accessibility is a major issue that comes up continually in the restaurant industry,” Styne said. “You can’t not consider it at this point. It’s just part of the vernacular of permitting.”

One Brooklyn resident sees the situation differently, as an opportunity, not a new set of obstacles.

Shelly, a Brooklyn performing artist in her late 30s who asked The Counter not to use her full name, was born with a disability and has relied on mobility devices all her life. Wheelchair-accessible ramps for restaurants are “segregated entrances,” she says, that make her feel different from able-bodied people. But during the pandemic, more restaurants are greeting patrons outside the front door, on the sidewalk—easier access, she says, and an equal set-up for everyone.

And she loves all the platforms in the street. Before the tables come out, she says, she takes to the deck and dances—turning, spinning and gliding freely in her chair.

“They’re amazing,” she says. “If the restaurant closes for a day, or if it’s the late afternoon or evening, I can dance on it, like a stage.”