For Dutch cuisine, there were two major waves of Dutch immigration to America. The second one was in the first half of the 1800s, primarily to western Michigan, and to a lesser extent, elsewhere to the upper Midwest. While some new dishes may have been brought over during this wave, the wave was relatively small in comparison to the German and Irish immigration waves going on at the same time, communities that settled nearer to and in growing urban areas. And anyway, by then, the Dutch influence on American cuisine was already well-established.

The first Dutch immigration wave was more influential on American cuisine, and the reason you don't see Dutch "ethnic" food in America is that this immigration wave was very old, and very early, and the most popular of their Dutch dishes pretty much entirely assimilated into the larger "American cuisine" that arose during the 18th and 19th Centuries.

This immigration wave, of course, was the one that established New Amsterdam, now known as New York City, which was originally the center of a colony encompassing both the states of New York and New Jersey. The English took over the colony in 1664, the Dutch got back control briefly in 1673-74, and then the English got it back until the Revolutionary War. After 1674, the amount of Dutch immigration ground to a halt.

But by then, the Dutch had brought over many dishes that made their way into standard American cuisine. "Doughnuts" were one--the Dutch called them olykoeks ("oil cakes") and they were a popular snack and street food in New York City. They were primarily sold out of "Dutch bakeries" in New York through the ~1830s or so. A Dutch bakery was seen as an ethnic bakery, just as much as an Italian bakery may be today--in fact, the word bakery comes from New Yorkers familiar with the Dutch baked goods industry. Before Dutch New Yorkers gave us the word bakery, English speakers typically called it a "baker's shop", a "bake-house", or simply the "baker's".

Another familiar "American" food that came out of these Dutch bakeries were cookies. While they were eaten year-round by the Dutch, they were a big deal for the Dutch at Christmastime, who would spend the holidays going to parties and dinners at the houses of friends and relatives, and it was tradition to give your host a cookie upon arriving--saving the biggest cookie for the party at the church minister's house. While thought of as thoroughly American today, cookies were still ethnic enough in the early United States that, over Christmas 1789, when the U.S. capital was in New York City, Abigail Adams, the Vice-President's wife, wrote a letter commenting on this Dutch treat she called a "cooky", and which she was unfamiliar with. She was 45-years-old at the time, but had spent her whole life in New England before that winter--evidently, this ethnic food hadn't made its way north yet.

In early 19th Century New York newspapers, especially at Christmas and New Year's time, ads for Dutch bakeries sometimes appeared, emphasizing these baked goods that were still then seen as "ethnic". Not only cookies and doughnuts/olykoeks, but also crullers, and waffles as well--both seen as ethnically Dutch, and neither word appearing in the English language in their food senses until they appeared in the 18th and 19th Centuries in New York.

Yet another Dutch dish that became immersed into American cuisine to the point that its ethnic origins are lost is cole slaw--which was Dutch for "cold cabbage salad". Now it's quite often associated with barbecue and/or Southern cuisine, but it was, in fact, introduced by the Dutch in New York. Its first appearance in the English language, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is from the November 12, 1794, edition of the Massachusetts Spy newspaper, in the sentence: "A piece of sliced cabbage, by Dutchmen ycleped [i.e., styled] cold slaw."

The Dutch also left their mark on the American breakfast. It is thought that Dutch New Yorkers played a significant role in popularizing American-style "pancakes" which, as pannekoek, would also be sold in Dutch bakeries, and urbanites would eat them as a quick bite in the morning. In the countryside, a desert often consumed was called suppawn, not really known back in the Netherlands, but invented by the Dutch in America. It was essentially just boiled grain with sugar added--at first, typically corn, but over time, wheat or oats were used when available. And the desert would be made so there would be leftovers in the morning--and oatmeal, and cream of wheat became part of the American breakfast. (Oatmeal was long known back in England, too, but the Dutch contribution is thought to be sweetening it with sugar or syrup, and eating it as a breakfast.)

Another important contribution of the Dutch to American cuisine was alcohol. While the English brought over alcohol as well, and both New England and New York had plenty of breweries (another New York Dutch loan word--the English called them "brewhouses", or the "brewer's"), New York was said in its early days to have more breweries per capita than any place on earth. But the contribution that was uniquely Dutch from that period was brandy--called brandewijn by the Dutch, literally "burnt wine".

It's no coincidence that brandy, as well as cookies, are associated with Christmastime, when Santa Claus delivers his presents--a lot of early American Christmas traditions came from the Dutch, or came from American New Yorkers in the early 19th Century trying to recapture the ethnic Dutch culture of their youths that was in the process of assimilating entirely as they grew up. Washington Irving's book Knickerbocker's History of New York and other works were instrumental in keeping some of these older, ethnic Dutch traditions alive (which were supplemented by other new Christmas traditions that had nothing to do with the Dutch).

But the Dutch didn't only leave their mark on Christmas. While not strictly a food, it's also thought that the tradition of dying "Easter eggs" at Easter, which the Dutch called Paas ei, originated with the Dutch community in New York, and passed on from there to the wider American culture.

There was also a lot of overlap with traditional English cuisine, but with a Dutch spin on it, so that foods like sausages, and pies (particularly the "Dutch apple pie") became entirely assimilated into American cuisine, and the roots of them--both Dutch and English--have long been forgotten. And then when Germans and Eastern European Jewish immigrants arrived, some other dishes that the Dutch and English had already been eating, such as pickles and cakes, began to be more associated with these later ethnic identities.

There were also popular dishes among the early Dutch Americans that didn't quite stand the test of time, though some western Michiganders and other Americans with more recent Dutch roots may be familiar with them--among them, apples and speck, pot cheese, and rolliche. Dope is another, which was a type of sauce or gravy. And while the dish died out in American cuisine, the word itself came into American English, at first to mean a stupid person, and later, to reference smoking, and then drugs.

In short, you don't see a whole lot of Dutch "ethnic" food, because all the most popular Dutch dishes with the wider American community became part of traditional American cuisine. It was up to later Dutch immigrants to introduce later Dutch dishes into the culture to make a new mark--and there was only one other significant wave of Dutch immigration, which was much smaller, and more rural and geographically isolated in western Michigan in the first half of the 19th Century, and it came right around the time that these Dutch "ethnic" foods back in New York were becoming identified as wholesome, old-fashioned "American" foods. There may be some other Dutch dishes that have been introduced as "ethnic" dishes to American diners since, but since so much of it was assimilated into American culture, there wasn't enough left over to start anew a "Dutch cuisine" that Americans would be interested in eating. Not until much later, anyway, but there hasn't been a significant immigration event to bring them over.

A lot of this is pulled from the book Cookies, Cole Slaw, and Stoops by Nicoline van der Sijs. And for some further reading, you may want to browse through Knickerbocker's History of New York by Washington Irving, in which he mentions many of these dishes in connection with the New York Dutch as opposed to the wider American community. James Fenimore Cooper, early New York author of Last of the Mohicans fame, also wrote several books set in the 18th and 19th Century New York countryside, and mentions several of these "Dutch" dishes, too, that we now think of as American. There's also this brief article from the Dec 15, 1842, edition of the Pittsburgh Daily Morning Post which talks about some of these Christmas sweets still being associated primarily with Dutch New Yorkers.

As an added bonus, on this page of the Dec 23, 1819, edition of the New York Post you'll see an ad for a Dutch bakery called Knickerbocker's Bakery, advertising their Christmas treats. Evidently, the bakery closed down, and was re-opened a few years later under new management, where, in another ad, the new owner made a point to emphasize his Dutch authenticity.

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As you can probably imagine, there is not a "one size fits all" explanation. I can talk about a couple of cases: the lack of Scandinavian and Native American restaurants.

The primary factor for the paucity (of course not total absence) in the case of immigrants from Scandinavian countries (and Finland, which has similar foodways) is settlement patterns. People from Sweden spread out on both sides of the U.S.-Canada border from New York all the way to Washington. Finlanders did the same over a more concentrated east-west area, mostly Minnesota and Michigan. Norwegians settled in Minnesota, the Dakotas; immigrants from Iceland went further north to Canada.

In all cases, the uniting factor is that the immigrants came primarily from rural backgrounds and sought primarily rural lifestyles once in North America. Their communities were often ethnically concentrated, but still spread out. So while Scandinavian immigrants and their descendants were involved in the production of raw ingredients for foodstuffs (wheat, dairy), preparing food for commercial sale on a small-scale was not a great economic idea.

Beatrice Ojakangas adds some additional points to the "rural communities" story. First, Finnish women in particular tended to work as private/domestic cooks, meaning families with more money to eat out more often could still have their traditional food at home. Second, the one food tradition that became more commercialized (especially over time) was bakeries, as baking was a more specialized, time-consuming, and already commercialized skill.

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For the small number of Native American restaurants (generally speaking, regardless of individual nation), I'll draw from an earlier answer:

Don't be fooled by myths of "the first Thanksgiving." Traditionally, white Americans have been far more interested in ignoring or eradicating Native foodways than embracing them. Since this question asks about "Native American" restaurants specifically, I'll focus on a couple of moments in restaurant history where food perspectives of various Native peoples were cut out of wider American fine and family dining. However, an integral part of the story is indeed the targeted destruction of Native food cultures by white Americans - especially since, archaeologists and oral tradition tell us, adoption and modification of foodways rather than wholesale switchover had been the result of intertribal contact before 1500.

The corn/squash/beans agriculture of the Southwest nations had spread east and then north up the Mississippi and tributaries. But the Algonquians and Iroquois, like other Eastern Woodlands nations, would spend the winter in their permanent towns and villages through the spring planting season, then move to waterlines (rivers, lakes, ocean) for a few months. They would catch and preserve fish for the present and for the rest of the year, and return home when the crops needed taking care of and harvest. The foraging and hunting seems to have been traditional to the Eastern Woodlands people before the addition of agriculture--the Algonquians only added farming in the 16th century, it seems, later than the Iroquois. The introduction of new technology and even new foods, in other words, did not have to destroy foodways. Unfortunately, that would become a major reason for the scarcity of Native American or specific Native nations' restaurant cuisine today.

The first stage in American restaurant history I want to look at is the mid-19th century. The rise of "dining establishments" had happened quickly from the age of the smalltime colonial tavern - a skyrocketing American economy drew international businessmen to glittering urban hotels, whose dining rooms became well-known and catered to an audienced used to, above all, French and English food. It was the needs of business that, in America, detached food service places from sleeping, as workers in the earlier 19th century needed lunch on the job.

Why this mattered was the creation of highly "ethnic" communities in cities and rural/township regions through immigration, settlement, and employment patterns. From the 1840s, as midday food service places proliferated and eventually broadened their service, immigrant groups built their own ethnic food places to serve their own communities - the innumerable Biergarten of St. Louis, Missouri, for example. (Budweiser beer was born out of one such - failing! - establishment after the Civil War). For the most part, ethnic restaurants continued to target only their linguistic/cultural community. But it's significant for our overall story because it marks the foundational establishment of ethnic cuisine at a time that explicitly excluded Native nations.

Because, for those of you keeping score at home, that era that America was beginning to host ethnic restaurants was the same period that white America doubled down on its endless campaign of cultural genocide against Indians.

I don't have the background to address the others, but I can shed a little light on why two seemingly contradictory things happened with the Irish in America:

• a). They form a notable part of American culinary history, despite:
• b). Irish cuisine having virtually no significant representation in America's restaurants

And the answer is surprisingly simple: Immigrant groups aren't necessarily a representative cross-section of their original societies. In fact, they almost never are.

WELL ACTUALLY #1: If you want to be really fastidious -- or pedantic -- you can argue that the downfall of Irish cuisine in America begins in the early 17th century when James I annexes Ireland, and accelerates after Cromwell's conquest in 1649-1653. The advancing English control over Ireland is what sets the stage for all the stuff we're going to talk about here. The Irish diet suffered terribly and didn't recover until the 20th century. However, I don't know as much about this period as I'd like, so I'm dropping it here only so you can have a sniffy little WELL ACTUALLY moment at a cocktail party if the subject ever comes up. I live for this shit, which is why no one invites me to parties anymore. (Win-win!)

WELL ACTUALLY #2: The Irish who emigrated to the U.S. overwhelmingly did so over the course of the 19th century, with numbers peaking in the 1840s and 1850s. If these dates sound vaguely familiar, it's because Ireland's Great Famine -- and more broadly, the circumstances that created it -- drove massive numbers of people out of the country on top of the ~1 million it killed within it. Despite popular belief, the potato blight started the famine but didn't actually cause it. I'll reserve further comment because that's not the focus of this post, but it's almost impossible to exaggerate how much Ireland and its trajectory as a country and culture has been changed by the famine. Its population still hasn't recovered more than 170 years later.

So let's get to your actual question. Writing anything that's universally true about a mass migration is a fool's errand, but the following is pretty reliably true of Irish immigrants to the U.S. in the mid- to late 19th century:

• Poor: Not shocking. There weren't a whole lot of people hitting the beach at Ellis Island who were more concerned about haute cuisine than just getting something vaguely edible on the table.
• Young and single: While this was true of most immigrants irrespective of background, it was notable in the Irish migration, especially in the years during and after the famine. For many Irish households, the only way to ensure the family's survival (or at least increase the odds of it) was to send teenagers and young adults to America to fend for themselves. If Junior made enough money to bring a family member over, it was typically a sibling who'd come, and not Mom or Dad. As Jane Ziegelman notes in 97 Orchard: An Edible History of Five Immigrant Families in One New York Tenement, the Germans, Italians, and Russians were more likely to emigrate as intact families and with neighbors from the same town. They effectively provided themselves with an extended support network and greater protection against social predators and bad luck in America. (Don't believe misty-eyed depictions of the American immigrant experience ... there was a lot of both.)
• Female: This was unusual, though I believe Irish migration was simply majority female rather than being overwhelmingly female (again, more true of the years during and after the famine). New York City had an insatiable demand for domestic service workers in the mid- to late 19th century, and young Irish women in steerage on the Liverpool-NYC line were a major source of it.
• Not well-exposed to a wide variety of ingredients: Aaaaaaand here's poverty again. The quickest example I can point to is how beef and pork were regarded by Irish immigrants. Ireland produced a lot of high-quality beef, but did so almost entirely for the export market (and toward the end of the 19th century, the English military). The average Irish family couldn't afford to buy the finished product, or a calf to raise on its own, or had the pasture land for it anyway. By contrast, raising a pig on kitchen scraps was generally within the means of most families. Bacon and cabbage was a traditional Irish meal, with the bacon (more specifically, the fat rendered from it) not being the dominant ingredient but crucial to flavoring the rest of the dish. Hilariously, when Americans eat the "traditional" corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick's Day, they're eating what was effectively a form of revenge that Irish-Americans took on the deprivation of their past lives. Irish-Americans in the U.S. had far better access to the "prestige" meat that was beef, and by God, they were not going to eat fucking bacon and cabbage on a celebratory occasion. It's a vivid reminder that what trickles down to us as "tradition" in immigrant foodways is often less a reflection of the old country and more a reflection of what immigrants went nuts eating once they had the opportunity. Similarly, a lot of Italian-American families venerate the tradition of the Sunday sugo without knowing that cooking a sauce full of meat would have been beyond the wildest dreams of the average Italian peasant. As a matter of fact, their forebears would be horror-stricken at the idea of tossing so much meat into a single meal.
• A smaller factor related to the above: Ireland's climate (rainy and cool) didn't permit the sheer variety of grain and vegetable types that were more common in European countries of more southerly latitudes. And -- again -- because the Irish population was largely in a state of cyclic poverty, Ireland as a whole saw few food imports within the means of the general population.
• Equally under-exposed to the best quality ingredients: The absentee English landlords who largely controlled Ireland's farms and pastures reserved the country's best produce for export. Yes, Ireland was exporting food even during the famine. Yes, ships full of beef, mutton, grain, milk, cheese, and butter sailed out of an island full of starving people. Yes, people were appalled by it even at the time. (Regrettably, this outrage was not immediately shared by Parliament.)

As with the Finnish immigrants that /u/sunagainstgold references above, it was very common for Irish women to make a living as cooks after arriving in America. This seems a little counterintuitive given the list we've just run through, and if the New Yorkers of the period were a little more self-aware and a little less desperate for servants, they might have agreed. ("Sure, let's hire the girl from the island full of starving people whose traditional cuisine was destroyed by two centuries of repressive imperial control. I bet Bridget makes a mean coquilles St.-Jacques.")

So how did beginner Irish cooks fare? About as well as you'd expect. Irish cooks were a common joke in the middle- and upper-class households of New York City. Housewives complained that they didn't know how to make anything that wasn't tea, potatoes, bacon, or cabbage. If you were lucky, they knew how to make an insipid stew. Most of them were from rural areas in Ireland and had never cooked over anything that wasn't a peat fire. They were flummoxed by coal stoves. They had no idea how to use modern cookware and broke things constantly. Anything that wasn't boiled was going to be burned. They couldn't make coffee or little pastries to serve with it, or anything else appropriate to serve for a guest luncheon. With the distance of years, we have the compassion to see that these women were likely doing their best in an impossible set of circumstances. The housewives of the time simply thought the Irish cook was a plague on the city.

Though in one case, this was literally true: The most famous Irish cook of the period is indisputably Mary Mallon, who arrived in the U.S. in 1884 and would later become known as "Typhoid Mary" after infecting dozens of people. She was an asymptomatic carrier of the salmonella typhi bacteria and, um, not the world's greatest hand-washer. A researcher named George Soper spent a significant portion of his professional career chasing her from outbreak to outbreak. The story is both fascinating and tragic, but this is getting long.

So at the individual level, it's pretty clear why few Irish arrived in America with the background and knowledge to cook professionally. If you zoom out a bit and look at the population as a whole, it becomes equally apparent why the whole historical miasma -- everything that circled around the Irish immigrant population, from centuries of English repression, the loss of Ireland's traditional cuisine, the circumstances that led so many to flee Ireland, the lack of capital and risk protection in America, to the lack of support from extended family networks -- was so unlikely to result in "Irish restaurants" becoming a thing.

Ziegelman summarizes it better than I can:

No other immigrant arrived in the United States with a culinary tradition as skeletal as the Irish. By the time of the Great Famine, three centuries of the landlord system had stripped it down to a single carbohydrate and a handful of condiments. Where Germans and Italians and Jews worked hard to perpetuate native food ways, the Irish peasant had little to preserve.

TL:DR: Oliver Cromwell doesn't care about Irish people.

Sources:

• British Food: An Extraordinary Thousand Years of History by Colin Spencer
• 97 Orchard: An Edible History of Five Immigrant Families in One New York Tenement by Jane Ziegelman