The Language of Menus

On suggestive selling, the power of language, and what makes a bad menu

There are many languages we need to speak in the hospitality industry. One of the most vital to our survival and prosperity is body language. It’s a difficult language to learn, but once fluent, it makes a front of house professional’s life infinitely easier. Picture, if you will; a young man enters your cafe on a Sunday morning. Unable to look up from his smartphone, on which he is simultaneously replying to an email, recording a TikTok and speaking to someone about “content strategy” via loudspeaker, he joins the queue for a table. Initially ignoring the host’s greeting, his shoulders slumped forward in a frenzied focus on his phone, he makes a casual, presumptuous gesture towards a large table, on which he intends to “do some work”. Someone illiterate in body language may relent, allowing this dynamic young entrepreneur to take up a large table during a busy period for some hours while he drains your wifi  and slowly sips a single oat latte.

A more well-read body linguist will artfully direct this guest to a single stool in a less desirable part of their venue, where the damage they can do to your daily takings will be minimised, or skillfully and tactfully send them elsewhere via a vaguely worded addition to the waitlist.

In the same way, restaurants can speak languages, too. The language of a restaurant’s design can say so much, telling the customer before they’re even seated about the style of food, price points and degree of formality about their venue. The language of the staff’s greetings and interactions, too, set an emotional table for every interaction a customer goes through from that point forward, and can influence their decision making process and average spend. But it is a restaurant’s menu that is the most vital vehicle for communicating with its guests, its sacred text, telling us so much about what a restaurant has to offer, and how it wants its customers to behave. Today I’ll be going through a few of the factors that go into creating a manu, the ways it is implemented by the staff, and some of the tricks used to maximise customer spend.

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The menu as an abstract concept

An important place to start here, of course, is if there is even a menu at all. At many fine dining degustation venues, the only decision to be made is how many courses you’d like, and at an even more select number of restaurants lucky enough to not be beholden to the customer at all, there is no decision. My personal preference in this situation is not to know anything, and discover each course as it is delivered. A memory I’ll always cherish was on my first visit to Attica in 2012, and the sense of anticipation over what we would receive for dessert. I vividly remember the hush that fell over the table as our server, with a grandiloquent sense of occasion befitting a Shakespearean actor, introduced our dessert. “Gentlemen…The Plight of the Bees'' he bellowed, almost sinisterly, before placing before us an ornate and intricate layered honey dessert parfait/lasagne amalgam that to this day defies description. These are the moments that I’m always chasing in a restaurant; excitement, theatre, the shattering of expectations that removing the menu altogether can create.

The exact inverse of this is the scourge of the QR menu, a pandemic relic that unfortunately, just like a generationally prohibitive real estate market and stagnant wage growth, we now appear to be stuck with for good. Undoubtedly an asset to busy, casual venues facing severe staff shortages, I nonetheless despise the cold, mechanical transaction of ordering through an app, and it makes it impossible for staff to control the flow of orders during busy times. An exemption can be made for a 4am Maccas McMuffin on a Darwin airport stopover, but sending $56.90 from your phone for a steak, pint and processing fee in a pub feels a little too Orwellian.

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When we deliver the menu… 

The process of delivering the menu can be vital to how the customer perceives it, and what decisions they make. Many venues opt to have the menu readily available as the customer is seated, often pre-printed on a paper placemat. While this is not ideal environmentally, it allows the FOH team to spend less time carrying and handing out the menus to customers as they arrive, minimising “dead time” that could be spent taking drinks orders, clearing, or seating more tables. An added bonus of this format is that it alleviates any anxieties about being forgotten. There is no worse feeling than being sat at a table, the initial thrill of being dressed and out of the house gently subsiding to the dread of not having any idea what’s available for you to order.

…and how we explain it

Typically, the more successful the venue, the more rehearsed the spiel. We’ve heard it all before. The script, occasionally tweaked by a skillful turn of phrase, but never straying too far from the message: here’s what we have, and here’s how much you should order. 

“Have you dined with us before?” sets the tone. Are the guests seasoned diners, or do you need to take a little more care to guide them through the offering?

“Our menu is laid out in ascending order, smaller snacks at the top, shared dishes in the middle, more substantial dishes at the bottom”. It sort of goes without saying these days, but it does bear repeating.

“The chef recommends 2-3 snacks to start, 2-3 shared dishes between the table, and 1-2 substantial dishes and sides”. Oh, the chef recommends, do they? You’d be surprised how many people take this as gospel, as if they’d just received wartime orders from their commanding officer. 

One thing is for certain; any concerns over whether you’ve ordered too much will be swiftly and earnestly abated. “Hmm..no, I think that will be a good amount!” will be the standard response. It’s roughly the equivalent of asking a used car salesman if they think you’re spending too much on a car.

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The aesthetics

How a menu physically appears in your hands can have a psychological effect on a customer’s expectations. A sparsely printed A3 menu on thick stock cardboard with nicely embossed lettering? You’re probably in a wine bar and about to spend $7 per oyster. An A3 poster-style landscape menu with eye-catching headlines, far too many items, and the words “feed me” in a big bold box? You’re in for a post-Chin Chin cultural appropriation journey, the proceeds going directly to the group of ex-Melbourne Grammar boys who were “inspired by their travels in South East Asia”. More subliminally, pay attention to where your eye is drawn on a menu. What design choices were made, and why? Is a particular menu item emboldened, empathised by visual or linguistic flourishes? You can bet this item is high margin and easy for the kitchen to execute.

How are the subsections worded, and what do they inherently convey about how substantial an item is? These decisions are rarely accidental, and point you subconsciously towards ordering exactly what the venue wants you to.

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A few notes on menus. First: originality

There are no rules on menus, and an iconic dish can be borne from the strangest circumstances. At bustling Carlton institution Seven Seeds, a signature eggs benedict served on a golden brown waffle is by far the most popular dish, giving birth to a tidal wave of increasingly absurd benedict incarnations across Melbourne. What is less known about this benny behemoth is that it was a complete accident, the result of an excess of pre-prepared waffles and the need for a quick and easy weekend special. It hasn’t left the menu since. Cumulus Inc’s signature tuna tartare with crushed peas and goats curd breaks almost every culinary rule, not only deeply offending all italians by pairing seafood with cheese, but matching the subtle luxury of sashimi grade tuna with overpowering goats cheese. Somehow, the dish works, and has endured a decade of relentless Melbourne trends to remain the Flinders Lane institution’s culinary calling card. None of these dishes should work conceptually, but they are greater than the sum of their parts, and outshine any prior notions of what punters want. And none of them would have existed without a chef taking a chance to try something different.

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Complete Dishes

At Neil Perry’s Double Bay legacy statement Margaret, simplicity is king. When you order a piece of whiting, that’s what you receive, elegantly grilled to opaque perfection, the name of the fisherman adoring the menu as proudly as the Neil Perry Cobram Estate olive oil adorns the fish. It is Perry’s signature move, the beauty of simplicity, pared back to basics, the harmony of nature preserved by the ponytailed Zen master of Australian cooking. Here’s the thing though: chances are, you are not Neil Perry. Highlighting a core ingredient is important, as is showcasing ethical and regenerative producers, but this can be done in ways other than plonking a giant piece of unadorned grilled protein on a plate with a sprinkle of salt and charging $60. Masquerading as restrained elegance, this trend veers closer to laziness, and is a deeply unsatisfying way to eat, especially under the added financial burden of having to pay extra for a carbohydrate or vegetable. Nothing brings me greater joy than seeing complete dishes that highlight seasonal ingredients, and necessitate something more than seasoning, flipping and plonking. If you believe it is truly your calling to serve simply plated, naked proteins, at least factor in the price of your sides into the equation. $18 for a handful of dressed leaves or a bowl of frozen french fries to accompany a $58 porkchop is exorbitant, and often discourages diners from ordering more.

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Kids menus 

Should every venue welcome children? To the degree that the child can behave, I think that almost any restaurant or cafe should, the exception being long Vue de monde style degustations that take 4 hours. That’s a recipe for disaster.  However, many other venues are missing out on a substantial demographic by not encouraging parents to bring their children. For one, young families are more likely to fill pre-6.30pm  bookings, at times where restaurants are traditionally quieter. Restaurants also have the opportunity to make lifelong connections with families, as a fun, relaxed restaurant experience with your child is the sort of thing that engenders long term loyalty. It’s not strictly necessary, either, to have the kids menu printed on the standard menu. A small, separate menu with 2-3 kid friendly dishes and a little colouring-in puzzle is an easy, cost effective gesture that could net incredible results.

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We hope you enjoyed this edition of Bureau of Eating & Drinking. We’ve been hard at work with some exciting new features for the newsletter, including some interviews that I think you’ll all enjoy. Until then, we hope you had something nice for lunch.