Every once in a while, you arrive a bit late to the place you’re staying. The day has already worn you out, hungry and tired, you grab your jacket and head out. The place doesn’t have any food or snacks and the sandwich from the trip has lost its appeal. Walking through the nearby streets, I passed three restaurants. Two were full, alive with noise and energy and the third sat almost silent, about two-thirds empty. At first, it felt like a win but deep down I knew: it was just the only option left.
I reached the door, where a faded “Best Restaurant of 2013” sticker met me at eye level. Inside, there was typical wooden decor and soft pop music. A charming host greets me and takes me to the table. I’m hopeful. Maybe this won’t be so bad… But then comes the menu.
A World tour… on one menu
Golden framed leather book with stained pages and plastic sleeves. A small encyclopedia of dishes, including a never-ending list of chicken variations. From South America to Tokyo, via Naples and Athens. Starters, soups, salads, pasta, pizza, steaks, fish, burritos, wings… even noodles? What is this place? A steakhouse? A pizzeria? A taqueria? A diner? Greek? Italian? Japanese? It tries to be everything and ends up being nothing. There’s no brand, no concept and we haven’t even started talking about the layout yet. Sections blurred, dish names lost in clutter, and not a single item standing out.
When design gets left behind
Without flow, hierarchy, highlighted items, just a list of endless choices. Even the polite staff felt unsure what to recommend from this flood of options. So I defaulted to the safest bet: pizza, made in-house and hard to mess up. Not because I was excited, but because I gave up. The pizza arrived: crispy edges, melting cheese, solid tomato base but halfway through, I realized I could barely taste it. Somewhere between the cluttered menu and the safe choice, the experience had slipped away. With a focused menu, even just 10 or 15 strong dishes one choice could have felt like the right one.
You don’t need a bad review to lose a guest
I didn’t hate the food but there was no emotion or a memory worth keeping, Why would i recomend, post and return? I walked out without knowing what the place stood for. And that kind of silence? It’s deadly for a business. Should places like this exist only for hungry, lost tourists? Isn’t every space worth a little love, little passion? Where was the pride, soul? Somewhere along the way, it got lost and buried under a menu trying to please everyone and connecting with no one.
The Takeaway
I’m glad places like the first one still exist, not to criticize but to learn. They show us how small details like unclear menus can quietly erode a guest’s experience. But every weak moment is a chance to spot something stronger. Fix it, improve it and make sure the next guest remembers more than just the food. Menus do more than list dishes. They set the expectations and spark curiosity. If a guest doesn’t know who you are or what you’re proud to serve, they won’t remember you. And if they don’t remember you, they won’t come back. The solution doesn’t need to be complicated, it just needs to be clear. Start by focusing on your offer and then make it easy to choose. A guest who orders with confidence is already halfway to returning.
So… what is your menu really saying? Guests won’t tell you directly, but your menu might be confusing them. Think it could be simpler or just better? Email us, we’d love to take a look.
Next: How to use menu psychology to guide sales
Simple layout tweaks, price anchoring and design moves that help guests choose what you want to sell.