As police don’t act, restaurants fight dine-and-dashers, shaming them online

It is a crime as old as restaurants themselves: customers walking out without paying. Known in America as “dine and dash”, the practice is suddenly surging in Los Angeles’ Koreatown and beyond. For many Korean-American restaurant owners, it has become a costly, demoralizing pattern—made worse by the fact that police rarely investigate these small-scale thefts.

Under California law, dine and dash can carry penalties ranging from a $1,000 fine to six months in jail for amounts under $950, and up to three years for higher damages. But in practice, restaurant owners say law enforcement does not treat such cases as a priority. Instead, they are left with unpaid bills, lost time, and the bitter sense that the system is not on their side.

Consider Chris Han, who runs “All You Can Eat Sushi & Barbecue” in Koreatown. In the span of months, his business has suffered repeated incidents of customers slipping out without paying. Some brazenly leave canceled credit cards on the table. Others walk away in groups, with only a few willing to settle part of the bill while the rest vanish with excuses about poor service.

One evening, eleven customers dined together, but only five agreed to pay. The remaining six claimed they had barely eaten and refused to hand over a cent. The restaurant lost $200 that night.

Han estimates he has faced at least seven similar cases this year alone. The pattern is clear: late-night, just before closing, groups take advantage of busy staff and slip away.

It isn’t just his restaurant. Yuchun Naengmyeon, a well-known noodle spot in Koreatown, reports monthly losses to dine and dashers. Last spring, three men ordered naengmyeon, galbi, and dumplings—more than $160 worth of food—before leaving behind a broken phone as “collateral” and disappearing. “We report these cases, but police don’t investigate,” said owner Jenny Jung.

The losses are not confined to dine and dash. Other owners describe a spike in fraudulent credit card chargebacks. Park, who runs a seafood restaurant in Burbank, was hit with six malicious chargebacks in less than two years by the same individual. Each time, not only was the payment reversed, but the restaurant was saddled with $25–30 in processing fees. “Eighty dollars disappears, and the loss becomes $110,” said Hyunju Cho, who runs a takeout spot.

Faced with mounting losses and little help from police, some Korean restaurateurs have found their own deterrent: public shame. Rather than filing another fruitless report, Han and his manager began posting CCTV clips of dine and dash incidents to social media. The approach is simple but surprisingly effective.

The videos show customers walking out without paying. Han uploads them with captions lamenting the impact on his business. In one case, friends of the offenders recognized them, contacted the restaurant, and paid the bill themselves. In another, the exposure forced the perpetrators to apologize directly.

The results have been dramatic. A group of Kyrgyz customers who skipped out in June were identified after a nearby restaurant owner recognized them and came forward. In May, six Hispanic men fled without paying; within a day, their video hit 100,000 views, and it emerged that one had a girlfriend who was a social media influencer. Facing public backlash, she contacted the restaurant to pay the bill. Earlier posts have gone viral, some attracting millions of views, and even leading embarrassed parents to repay debts on behalf of their children.

The restaurant has leaned into this approach, even launching a dedicated Instagram account, @fightdineanddashers, to document not just their own cases but those of other restaurants. The account has grown into a clearinghouse of community vigilance, part deterrent, part shaming platform, and—ironically—an unexpected marketing tool. Videos of dine-and-dashers have drawn millions of views, bringing more visibility to the restaurant itself.

Some now jokingly call it “the restaurant that catches dine and dashers.”
The rise of dine and dash incidents—and the lack of enforcement—reveals a deeper problem. When petty crime goes unchecked, small businesses are left to fend for themselves. The burden falls on immigrant owners, who often lack the resources or legal knowledge to pursue lengthy claims. For them, the law on the books is meaningless if it is not enforced.

By turning to social media, these owners are improvising a form of justice. Public exposure not only pressures offenders but also signals to the community that theft will not go unnoticed. Yet it is telling that they have resorted to shaming tactics because formal institutions have failed them.
Is social media shaming the perfect solution? Certainly not. It risks overexposure, misidentification, and even legal disputes. But for now, it provides Korean restaurant owners with what police reports do not: results.

What began as an act of frustration has evolved into a grassroots accountability tool. Families, friends, and communities are stepping in to cover unpaid bills and save offenders from further embarrassment. And in the process, these small businesses are reclaiming a measure of dignity and security.

The lesson is clear: when laws exist but enforcement is absent, ordinary people will find their own methods. In Koreatown, that means a smartphone, a security camera, and the conviction that theft deserves to be seen.

By Mooyoung Lee [lee.mooyoung@koreadaily.com]