WHEN I LEFT ACADEMIA for the so-called “real world,” the first job I landed was at a restaurant consulting agency. Naïvely, I thought I knew a thing or two about food. Hadn't all those years studying orgiastic turtle feasting rituals meant anything? Working at the agency changed all of that. I learned to think of burgers in terms of “carriers” and “proteins” and fries in terms of their “craveability.” Restaurants were never mere restaurants; they were “fast casuals” or “fine casuals” or yet-to-be-named service models devoted to customizing bowls of poke. I made PowerPoint presentations exhorting clients to “leverage equity in sauces and dips” and “showcase fork and knife credibility.”
But nothing riles up a restaurant consultant quite like menus. Whether they're printed on laminated cards, scrawled on vintage chalkboards, broadcast on LED screens, or recited by earnest waiters, menus instruct us how to use a restaurant. Little is left to chance. Stack your menu with too many options, and you'll rattle your guests with order anxiety. Refuse to indulge their fickle appetites, and your user frequency will take a hit.
Of course, it doesn't take an industry expert to know that menus are much more than their contents. The menu is a restaurant's calling card: the program, the résumé, the grand marquee, the sales pitch. Menus titillate diners' late-night cravings and social insecurities and affectations of expertise. Even more so, consultants claim, with a slick design, a well-timed promotion, and a clever bundling strategy.
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