Here’s an article for you, recently put up by the New York Times. An article about what they deem “Menu Psychology”. In other words: Restaurants are fucking with your head!
Let’s just kick right in with the opening sentence. One of which I hate with all my heart: “CHICKEN liver is what the restaurateur Danny Meyer calls a torpedo. “
First of all, “restaurateur” is the worst word ever. It’s right up there with pus and bologna. You’re a restaurant owner, not a “restaurateur”. What kind of self-righteous arrogant shit is that?! It’s just like the fact the Liberal Arts major who serves me my over-priced latte has to carry the job title “Barista”. Who the fuck knows what that means?! I sure as hell don’t, and neither does this poor fuck. How can he BE something and not know what it is at the same time?! That defies logic, and it’s all because of our need as a society to sugar-coat everything with fancy language that makes the people using it look like fuckweeds.
Not to mention, if someone goes by “Danny”, they probably shouldn’t also go by “Restaurateur”. That kind of word is held only for people who don’t shorten their names. If his name was Daniel, I may buy it. But “Danny” sounds like the name of the 16 year old pie-faced kid spitting in my onion rings at Burger King, not the name of someone running a restaurant that serves chicken liver.
“Left to its own devices, it may be unappetizing and unpopular (MAY be unappetizing and unpopular?! What makes you have that idea, is it ’cause it’s a fuckin’ ORGAN?!), but when paired with what he calls an enhancer — applewood smoked bacon in the case of the chicken liver on the menu at Tabla, Mr. Meyer’s Indian fusion restaurant in the Flatiron District — it not only excites the taste buds but goes to work on the mind.”
Why does that paragraph exist in this article? A precursor to help you get the idea of what the whole thing is about? No, it exists only to piss me off. They wrote this article with one thing in mind: Send Bob Around The Fuckin’ Corner!
Where do I even start? How about “Indian Fusion” restaurant. Do you know what that means? Right: Not real Indian food. Fusion?! That is NOT a word that is appetizing in the least. That’s a word you MAYBE use with juice: Banana-Strawberry FUSION, but even then it’s really forced and obnoxious. However, what this seems to imply is that it’s Indian food PLUS other shit. Basically, American’s are bastardizing another type of food. We’ve done it with many other types. For instance, Italian and Mexican fused to make a Mexican Pizza, which looks oddly like a taco that didn’t get folded up. American bullshit with extra cheese!
Indian Fusion is one of those trendy-terms. For pretentious indie fuckers who like to think they’re hip. These are the ones who buy clothing at thrift stores, drive hybrid cars, and sit around coffee shops silently judging (and not in the funny way like I do) everyone that is different than them. They like Wes Anderson films (which no one with actual taste does), and they enjoy Co-Op food stores. Why? Because they like paying thirteen dollars for guilt-free milk.
This same mindset is why, at the Mall of America here in Minnesota, we actually have something called an Oxygen Bar. An idea that makes me reconsider my stance on genocide.
My next complaint about that paragraph is his use of bacon. Listen, bacon is basically the reason why happiness exists. Don’t go shovin’ it into stuff that shouldn’t have it in it. Like other animals. Chicken and pig do not work together. They are meant to be eaten separately. Bacon isn’t an “enhancer” either. Viagra is an enhancer. Bacon is food, fucker. It doesn’t “enhance” anything. It just makes it taste better. Enhancer is another one of those buzz words, like fusion. It’s strong, it’s scientific. As if this was a genius idea. No, you just put bacon, which is pretty much universally loved, on top of something else. You’re not a genius for doing something that high college students have been doing for years. How about I give “Danny” a vasectomy, and “enhance” society by making sure he can’t reproduce.
The worst, however, comes right at the end: “it not only excites the taste buds but goes to work on the mind.” Holy shit! It EXCITES the taste buds. I didn’t know my taste buds could get excited. Now this whole thing is starting to sound like sex. After we use the ENHANCER, we get EXCITED. MMM, this sounds fantastic. I assume when I digest this food, it’ll be like a climax for my stomach, correct? Why not just say: Bacon, it’ll make you jizz.
Then they say that it’ll GO TO WORK on my mind. Go to work on it? What are you trying to do here? Charles Manson “went to work” on the minds of some young girls. I don’t want my food to get involved with my mind. Stomach, yes, mind, not so much. This plate of food isn’t Hannible Lecter, fucker, it’s just a damn meal!
“And the name of the Tabla appetizer, Boodie’s Chicken Liver Masala, draws even deeper from the growing field of menu psychology because Boodie is the mother of Floyd Cardoz, Tabla’s executive chef. People like the names of mothers, grandmothers and other relatives on their menus, and research shows they are much more likely to buy, say, Grandma’s zucchini cookies, burgers freshly ground at Uncle Sol’s butcher shop this morning and Aunt Phyllis’s famous wedge salad. “
Boodie? Again with the sexy talk! Come get yourself some Boodie…’s Chicken Liver Masala. So, they named it after the cook’s mother? I mean, I wouldn’t really know that just flippin’ through the menu, but alright. It’s not even important. You could name the sandwich after some hooker you fucked three weeks ago, and I’d care just as little.
“People like the names of mothers, etc.”. Do they now? Is that a selling point to you guys? If I were to name a big bag of crap “Nancy’s Bag O’ Crap”, would you be more inclined to buy it? Has your mind EVER been swayed by the inclusion of the name of someones mother? Research says though. Research says people are more likely to buy the stuff with family names on them. Isn’t that sad? Research. Who has the time to research something THAT unimportant! Advertisement people are so full of shit it makes me want to puke up the plate of Auntie Jane’s Mexican Pizza Fusion Surprise that I ate this afternoon.
The article continues by explaining that, after combining with the BREAD BAR (or “Bakery” if you’re not a new-age hipster dumb fuck) that was downstairs, they spent “months” pondering this stuff. Wow, really? Months? Don’t you have something better to do with your life? You know, like… fuckin’ ANYTHING! I understand you’re working on making your business better, but not even Rembrandt spent that much time thinking about… whatever the fuck it is that Rembrandt did that was so special. Your restraurant probably sucks, it’s not worth that much effort “Danny”.
“The price of Boodie’s chicken livers, for example, is $9, written simply as 9. This is a friendly and manageable number at a time when numbers really need to be friendly and manageable.”
Oh it just doesn’t QUIT does it?! This blog is going to be about thirty chapters long at this rate!? Every fucking sentence makes me more annoyed than the previous one! Son of a bitch. “Friendly and manageable” NUMBER?! How can a number be FRIENDLY?! Does that mean other numbers aren’t so friendly? “8″ rhymes with “Hate”, so it’s clearly an unfriendly number. When you’re attaching personality traits to NUMBERS, you’ve now breached the border between “annoying” and “fucking nutcase”. When you’re trying to get people to go all buddy-buddy with the price of their food, you’ve gone completely psychotic. It’s not even up for debate. No psychologist need be brought in, you’re a fucking lunatic “Danny”.
And then it gets more depressing when they say that we live in a time where numbers “need to be friendly and manageable”. I didn’t know that was an issue, did you? I mean, I know we live in a time where we need more funding for schools. I know we live in a time where we need to seek out a revival of common sense. I know we live in a time where understanding and togetherness will get us through the biggest of problems. But we also live in a time where we need to make sure our numbers are friendly? If that’s the time we live in, it’s time for us to go. Pack your shit, friends, it’s time to down the cyanide-laced purple Kool-Aid and go meet our fuckin’ makers. Life isn’t worth living if my numbers need to be “manageable”.
“In the world of menu engineering and pricing, a dollar sign is pretty much the worst thing you can put on a menu, particularly at a high-end restaurant. Not only will it scream “Hello, you are about to spend money!” into a diner’s tender psyche, but it can feel aggressive and look tacky. So can price formats that end in the numeral 9, as in $9.99, which tend to signify value but not quality, menu consultants and researchers say. “
“Menu Engineering”. Nope. I didn’t just read that. I made that up in my mind, as a cruel joke. Clearly no one would refur to making a menu as “engineering”. Would they? Of course, these are the same people that have used “Fusion” and “Restaurateur”. I guess we can’t let anything slip past them.
Don’t use dollars signs? Fine, I’ll let it slide. But only because they’re pointless. That’s the only reason you don’t use them on a menu. Not because they’re verbally assaulting you! And what the fuck does “diner’s tender psyche” mean?! My “psyche” wasn’t tender up until just now. And that’s simply because of your article, not a fuckin’ dollar sign! Your article has crippled my psyche, and pushed me that much closer to my inevitable breakdown.
Also, note the term “Menu Consultant”. So first it’s “engineered” and then we need to “consult” people. All this just to make a list of what shitty food you’re serving?! Listen. If anyone ever tells you that America has a job shortage, this article is your counter-argument. If a “menu engineer” and “menu consultant” are both real jobs, there is no such thing a job shortage.
” Mr. Meyer said. ‘The chefs write the music and the menu becomes the lyrics, and sometimes the music is gorgeous and it’s got the wrong lyrics and the lyrics can torpedo the music.’ ”
I sure hope he didn’t say that OUTLOUD! And what the fuck is with “Danny” and the word “torpedo”. It’s the second time he’s used it. Apparently, he’s really eager to blow up his diners. Which, considering what happens to your bowels after eating Indian food, isn’t exactly far from the truth.
By the way, a menu is not music. A menu is a menu. Music is music. Music takes actual talent and artistry, a menu is just a FUCKING MENU! Leonard Cohan could write a menu, without breaking a sweat, “Danny” could not write the song “Hallelujah.”. Unless it went something like “Hallelujah…. TORPEDO!”
“The use of menu engineers and consultants is exploding in the casual dining arena and among national chains, a sector of the business that has been especially pinched by the economy. In response, they are tapping into a growing body of research into the science of menu pricing and writing, hoping the way to a diner’s heart is not only through the stomach, but through the unconscious. ”
Science of menu pricing. Yes, I remember taking that course in High School, right after Chemistry and Physics. If these people who write “Hamburger: Five Dollars” call themselves scientists, they deserve to be shot. Or worse: Forced to eat the food they’re serving!
“Huddle House, the family-dining chain with more than 400 restaurants in 17 states, is rolling out a test menu at 20 restaurants next week. The company hired Gregg Rapp, a menu engineer and consultant who holds ‘menu boot camps’ for restaurants around the country. He said he had been ‘taking dollar signs off menus for 25 years,’ ”
I’m just going to go ahead and say it: FUCK YOU GREGG RAPP! I hope you vanity-Google your own name and come across my blog. Just so you can read this paragraph. I hope you get AIDs, you stupid ass. Menu Boot camps? Holy fuck, that’s a really powerful way of saying “Lesson on Writing Menus”. You’re not a drill Sergeants Drill Sergeants are tough, intimidating. You’re a fucking toolbag. You couldn’t intimidate a pack of 6 year old Girl Scouts with a title like “menu consultant”. He actually even says that he’s been “taking dollar signs off menus for 25 years”. Woop-de-fuckin’-do. Aren’t you special. I really hope a giant dollar sign falls of a big sign and crushes you today, Mr. Rapp.
The article jumps to another page. Imagine that, more than one PAGE of this shit!
A new person is talking at this point, someone who’s a something for somewhere, I don’t really care anymore. But she does say something that hurt my eyes to see.
“She said the chain took dollar signs off the menu in 2007, and now on the test menu, instead of an omelet and orange juice, there is ‘the light and fluffy Heavenly Omelet’ and ‘Minute Maid orange juice.’ “
Heavenly Omelet. And just when I thought Mr. Rapp was the worst thing to happen to me, I have to witness someone call a fuckin’ egg HEAVENLY! I don’t even believe in Heaven, and yet I still find this unbelievably dumb. If there was a heaven, I’d certainly hope it was more exciting than a fucking omelet. Why not just go for what you’re really trying to say: Orgasmic Omelet. Eggs so scrumptious they’ll make you bust a nut right there in the restaurant. I bet you’d sell a thousand more omelet’s a day than you ever could calling them “Heavenly”. Maybe I should become a “menu engineer”!
They then dive into the tricks of the trade. Talking about “decoy” items, really expensive items placed at the top to make customers think the rest of the dishes are more “resonably priced”. They begin to explain how customers don’t order the cheapest or the most expensive item on the menu. This is not true. If I’m with a date, and I can already tell I don’t like her: she’s getting the cheapest item. If I’m with someone who is offering to pay for my meal, I’m getting the most expensive. I have proven you WRONG, menu-consultants. So spare me your dumb-ass decoy.
After they list a series of other tricks, they throw in this stand-alone thought:
“Unless a restaurant wants to frighten its customers, the price should always be at the very end of a menu description and should not be in any way highlighted. “
“OH GOD IT’S THE PRICE!!!” Nothing scarier than the fuckin’ price. Give me some credit, I’m not scared of a number. I mean, it’s such a friendly number, right?
“Mr. Rapp, of Palm Springs, Calif., also says that if a restaurant wants to use prices that include cents, like $9.99 or $9.95 (without the dollar sign, of course), he strongly recommends .95, which he said “is a friendlier price,” whereas .99 is “cornier.” On the other hand, 10, or “10 dollars,” has attitude, which is what restaurants using those price formats are selling. “
Mr. Rapp is back again. I thought I told you to die, fucker. And he’s hit me with another moronic barrage of stupid. Now 95 is the friendly number. And 99 is CORNIER. It’s not a fuckin’ romantic comedy, you numbnuts, it’s the price of my food! And apparently, 10 has attitude. Again with assigning personality traits to numbers. While we’re at it, why don’t we avoid putting 1.36 as a price, because “36″ is a bit of a whore. And don’t get me started on that douchebag 73!
We keep going, now on to the adjectives used to describe food. Apparently, words make you more full after meals:
“Vivid adjectives can not only sway a customer’s choice but can also leave them more satisfied at the end of the meal than if they had eaten the same item without the descriptive labeling. “
That makes no sense. If that was the case, why not just try that shit at home. Sure, when you give a homeless guy a sandwich, don’t say it’s a sandwich, say it’s a “SUPER FUCKING AWESOME SANDWICH OF FULLNESS”. Sure, he’ll think you’re crazy and give you his change, but at least he’ll be more full from that sandwich. Just don’t buy the sandwich from “Danny”, because he’s a moron.
Why is he a moron? How about this:
“In contemplating the Tabla menu, Mr. Cardoz said he and Mr. Meyer decided there were too many unusual Indian terms that were alienating customers, so they kept only the most recognizable words, like tandoori, paneer and tikka. “
Tandoori. Paneer. Tikka. Nope, never heard of any of them. Are they the name of characters in Lord Of The Rings? So, Indian Fusion means “Indian Food… Fused with American Idiocy”.
Now “Danny”’s partner is getting in on the mix. He has this to say:
” ‘I feel most guests want to know what my inspiration was for any dish, and when they realize there is a connection for me doing something, they want to try it and they want to know it,’ he said. “
No, I really don’t. I don’t want to know SHIT about you or your meal. I just want to stuff food in my face because I’m hungry you idiot. That’s why I’m in your restaurant. For food! Imagine that! I’m not here for a history lesson or a Inside-The-Douchebag-”Restaurateur”’s-Studio discussion. I just want to put something in my face that’ll make me not as hungry as I was before.
“And there was one connection he was definitely not going to take off the menu, whether it was on the chicken liver or the onion rings, which come with “Boodie’s Ketchup”: his mother.”
Alright, “Boodie’s Ketchup” is the single most unapatizing thing I’ve ever heard. It really sounds like it’s in the same boat as “Butt Gravy”. I will never, in a million years, buy something with Booty Ketchup on it. Your mom needs a different name, man…
That was, without a doubt the second most painful experience of my life. The only way it could be worse if I had to eat a jar of vegemite while reading it.
The article has taught me two things:
1) The New York Times is fucking stupid
and
2) I shouldn’t go to restaurants, because they’re trying to fuck with my head.
So, there you have it folks. Next time you go out to eat, you’re now armed with the knowledge to beat the “Menu Engineers” at their own game. Now: Happy Eating!