Yes, it can be hard to get a restaurant table. But it can be impossible if you’re a wheelchair user

Illustration: Sarah Tanat-Jones/The Observer

There are many things you can learn from a restaurant’s website: what stream the trout they serve swam in, which mountain range supplies the salt, whether there’s gluten-free bread. What you may not be able to establish, if you’re a wheelchair user, is whether you’ll be able to eat there. Courtesy of reader Jamie Hale I now know something about this. Jamie, who is a wheelchair user, advises institutions and theatres on disability access and runs the disabled-led arts organisation Criptic Arts, among other things. He emailed to request I include information in my reviews about disability access.

I often get requests to include details on vegan options, meat sourcing, piped music and so on. If I covered them all there would be little space for the actual review. Instead, I mention issues where appropriate. I’m not writing a guide book. If you’re concerned, check the restaurant’s website for yourself. But disability access is different, Jamie said, because websites rarely display that information. I got the point and suggested we meet for lunch. I would be responsible for booking somewhere that met Jamie’s needs.

Here’s the headline: it’s bloody difficult. I checked dozens of websites. All but one contained no information on accessibility at all. There were messages about sustainability, employment standards, even modern slavery, but nothing about whether Jamie would be able to go inside. Many don’t list phone numbers. “I usually have to email six or seven places,” Jamie said. Let’s hear it then for the recently opened Jamie Oliver Catherine Street, which has a clear and positive line about wheelchair accessibility on the website, confirmed by a phone call.

We met there for lunch: nice enough gravadlax, chicken en croute, and a rump steak. Jamie looked about the space approvingly. “Tables at varying heights, chairs both with and without armrests, a lot of space between tables, and full access because it’s on the flat.” This, he said, was not common. The biggest issue can simply be getting inside, courtesy of one or two steps. ‘“All it takes is a foldaway ramp, which costs around £100, less than most tables would spend. Many places don’t bother.” Disability access is covered by the 2010 Equality Act. It includes an “anticipatory requirement to make reasonable adjustments”. But it’s civil law. It’s up to individuals to take legal action against hospitality businesses for failing to comply rather than, say, local councils. “And that’s costly and risky.”

What would Jamie like restaurants to do? “Make everything clear on the website, even if it’s just that there are three steps and no wheelchair access. Having that information would take away huge stress. If I know they don’t have an adapted toilet, I can plan ahead.” But obviously they should go further. “It’s not just a shame that I can’t go to certain restaurants. It’s a moral obligation to remedy that.” Have an adapted toilet. Make it reachable between tables. Don’t use it as a store room.

And what can the rest of us do? “When you go to a restaurant tell them you know a wheelchair user who would like to visit and ask if they’ve got a ramp. The more they are asked about it, the more they’ll think about it.” As he says: “The absence of wheelchair users in your restaurant doesn’t mean they couldn’t be a presence.” Jamie acknowledges it remains tricky for me to provide conclusive information about accessibility in my reviews. Those with disabilities would still have to check for themselves. But after our lunch one thing is clear: I’ll never look at a dining room in the same way again.

To learn more about Jamie Hale’s work visit jamiehale.co.uk