A colleague who dined with his girlfriend’s business colleagues the other night just told me he had to stop at the grocery store for cheese and salami on the way home. "I was still hungry," he confessed. "It’s stressful eating at a small-plate restaurant with business colleagues."

No need to name the restaurant; it didn’t do anything wrong. The point is the social awkwardness of the small-plate enterprise. To share or not to share? Who calls out the first suggestion of what to order? How many plates to order…especially if it isn’t yet clear who’s picking up the bill? If you’re still hungry at the end, do you suggest ordering more and risk looking gluttonous before your betters? What about that poor last spoonful of risotto that always goes back to the kitchen, since nobody wants to look like the piggy chasing after the last precious grains?

And the eternal conundrum: What if there are only three croquettes on a plate for four people?

It’s one thing to have fun with your dinner, steal bites across the table, cut an appetizer down the middle with the side of your fork when you’re with friends. Such is the culinary fun small-plate dining allows, and the reason those of us who love it love it. (Psst: for our November issue we found out who loves it most—see slide 9.) It’s another thing to take such liberties around your boss.

Remember the days when each diner ordered her own dinner and it was hers and hers alone?

Miss ’em?