The hottest restaurant on Instagram isn’t real

If it seems too delicious to be true – it probably is.

Ethos’ social media is filled with great images of aesthetically pleasing, ‘gram-worthy dishes, from delicious chicken wing bouquets and indulgent honeycomb donuts to intricate creations of dinosaur-shaped croissants and Moo Dear Deng from the Internet.

But the seemingly popular restaurant in Austin, Texas, which boasts nearly 75,000 online followers, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

In fact, it doesn’t even exist.

Pizza with Pikachu’s face, loaf of bread in the shape of loafers and a house made of waffle tiles are all cooked by artificial intelligence. There are also fake celebrity appearances, like guest bartender Elon Musk, and AI-generated images of employees.

Ethos’ “unreal” food is part of the lineup, though not everyone seems to be in on the joke.

“Where is this cafe? It doesn’t say on their website,” complained one potential customer.

“I like them all, but your address/location is impossible to find anywhere. It’s not on your social network, not on your website and when I Google Map it gives me a consulting company,” complained another. “They like the brand, but this seems like an obvious piece of information that’s missing. I want to visit, but I have no idea where to go.”

“I will literally fly to Texas just for this,” someone else commented.

“Where do I order,” asked one user.

Prospective patrons tried to make a reservation on Ethos’ official website, where the fictional restaurant claims to experience “high demand” and recommends securing a table on the first Monday of every month at 4:30 a.m., but when diners eager went to click on the booking link, they were redirected to a separate joke page.

While disgruntled users wonder if the satirical establishment is “even real” after unsuccessful reservation attempts, others weighed in on the point, calling it their “favorite restaurant in Austin.”

“I don’t know what’s funnier, the dinocrosan or the fact that so many people in the comments think it’s real,” one person said.

It is not clear who is the mastermind of Ethos, but the unknown puppet is making an income despite not serving plates of food.

The company makes Ethos-branded merchandise — such as “I Dined at Ethos” apparel or shirts emblazoned with the slogan “Unreal Flavors” that cost less than $20 — and they work fast. Now, Grubstreet’s investigation into the fake restaurant published this week has turned into a meme and has been slammed.

But it is not clear why, exactly, the anonymous administrator produced a copycat restaurant.

When pressed by local channel KXAN about their origins, Ethos declined to comment due to time constraints and directed reporters to a request form that asked for standard information for a media investigation, in addition to a “creative and detailed view of a food that interests you”.

And when Austin Monthly contacted the company about its mission, Ethos gave a clean answer: “The vision for Ethos began with a group of passionate food enthusiasts who aimed to create a unique dining experience that celebrated the rich diversity of culinary traditions. .”

The Post has contacted Ethos for further comment.

While past research has found that AI-generated images of food look tastier than real photos, the Food Institute is concerned that “AI images could potentially foster unrealistic expectations about what natural foods should look like and potentially undermine sustainability efforts, such as promoting “ugly fruits and vegetables.”

In response to the images produced by Ethos, the Texas Restaurant Association told KXAN that while AI can be “a transformative tool,” it also risks “misuse.”

Ethos, however, is not the first fake fine dining experience.

In 2018, a Vice contributor turned his shack into a dining phenomenon on TripAdvisor through staged photos and fake reviews, and last year, over 100 New Yorkers were tricked into believing they had finally scored a table at a historic downtown steakhouses. Instead, it was an elaborate stunt orchestrated by a troupe of General Zers that set up shop in a converted bathroom.