You sit down. You’re hungry. You open the menu.
It’s 14 pages long. There are 87 entrees. You now have decision paralysis and you haven’t even gotten to the appetizers yet.
The Identity Crisis Establishment
The menu offers sushi, tacos, pasta, burgers, pad thai, and something called “Mediterranean fusion bowls.”
Pick a lane, restaurant. Nobody’s good at everything.
You know the kitchen has one frozen bag of potstickers they microwave for the “Asian-inspired” section. You just know it.
The Novel-Length Descriptions
“Our signature grass-fed, locally-sourced heritage beef burger is thoughtfully crafted with artisanal brioche, heirloom tomatoes, microgreens from our rooftop garden, house-made aioli infused with organic garlic, and aged white cheddar from a small farm cooperative in Vermont.”
It’s a burger. With lettuce and cheese. Just say that.
Meanwhile you’ve been reading for 90 seconds and you’re still on page 3 of the sandwich section.
The Impossible Decision
You’ve narrowed it down to four options. Then you see someone else’s food get delivered and it looks amazing.
“What’s that?”
“The sesame chicken.”
You flip back through the menu. There are THREE sesame chicken dishes. None of them match what that person is eating.
Your server arrives. “Ready to order?”
You panic and say the first thing you see. It’s a salad. You didn’t want a salad. But it’s too late now.
The “Chef’s Specials” Insert
A separate laminated card falls out. Six more options you now have to consider.
One is $47 and the description is just “Market Price Fish – Ask Your Server.”
You’re not asking. That’s a trap. If you have to ask the price, you can’t afford the price.
The Dietary Label Chaos
Little symbols everywhere. GF. V. VG. DF. Keto-friendly. Paleo. Heart-healthy.
Half the menu has a chili pepper icon indicating spice level, but there’s no legend explaining if one pepper is “mild” or “you will need medical attention.”
Meanwhile, Your Friend
“I’ll have the chicken tenders.”
They didn’t even open the menu. They knew what they wanted before they sat down.
You hate them and respect them equally.
The Post-Order Regret
Your food arrives. It’s fine. But you see someone else’s plate and it looks incredible.
You picked wrong. You always pick wrong.
Next time you’re getting what that person got. But you won’t remember what it was called, and you’ll end up in the same menu spiral again.
Restaurants: maybe just offer like 12 things total and make them all really good? Revolutionary concept, I know.
Until then, we’ll all be sitting here reading your menu like it’s a Tolstoy novel, trying to decide between 47 types of chicken.