Did you ever notice how eating at a restaurant used to be simple? You walked in, sat down, someone handed you a menu, and you ordered food. Now you need a smartphone, a degree in graphic design, and the patience of a Buddhist monk just to figure out what's for dinner.
I've spent decades in this industry. I've been a busser, a server, a cook, a manager, a brewer, and even a Director of Marketing. I've seen trends come and go. Some were brilliant. Most were not. And lately, I find myself channeling my inner Andy Rooney, that legendary curmudgeon who ended every 60 Minutes segment with the kind of complaints that made you think, "Finally, someone said it."
Rooney once asked to be left alone while eating his dinner. I think about that a lot these days. Especially when I'm sitting at a table, squinting at my phone, trying to load a menu that takes longer to appear than the actual food.
The QR Code Menu: A Solution to a Problem Nobody Had
Here's what I don't understand about QR code menus. Laminated menus worked for a hundred years. They were wipeable. They were readable. They didn't require a software update.
But somewhere along the way, someone decided that the dining experience needed to feel more like troubleshooting your home Wi-Fi.
Now I sit down, and instead of a menu, I get a little tent card with a pixelated square that looks like a robot sneezed on it. I scan it. Nothing happens. I scan it again. My phone opens a website from three restaurants ago. The server comes by and says, "Just point your camera at it." I am pointing my camera at it. I've been pointing my camera at it for four minutes.
And when it finally works? The menu is a PDF. A PDF. The same format we use to send tax documents. I'm pinching and zooming like I'm examining satellite imagery just to find out if the burger comes with fries.
For those of us in restaurant consulting, we understand why this happened. COVID pushed everyone to touchless everything. But here we are in 2026, and somehow these temporary solutions became permanent. If you're looking for ways to find money your restaurants are leaving on the table, start by asking: is your menu actually readable, or are you losing customers to frustration before they even order?
The Customization Industrial Complex
I like choices. I really do. But there's a difference between offering options and holding me hostage in a choose-your-own-adventure novel.
I ordered a sandwich last week. The server asked me:
– What bread? (Seven options.)
– What cheese? (Eight options, plus "no cheese," which feels judgmental.)
– What protein temperature? (Medium? Medium-well? "Chef's temp?" What does that even mean?)
– Toppings? (Fourteen options, including "house pickled seasonal vegetables," which turned out to be carrots.)
– Sauce? (Six options, and none of them were just "mayonnaise.")
– Side? (Fries, sweet potato fries, salad, soup, fruit cup, or, and I'm not making this up, "chef's whim.")
By the time I finished ordering, I had made more decisions than I make in a typical workday. I didn't want to build a sandwich. I wanted to eat a sandwich. Someone in the back is a professional sandwich maker. I trust them. Just make me a good one.
This is where restaurant growth gets tricky. Operators think more options mean more appeal. But sometimes more options just mean more friction. Streamlining your menu isn't about limiting creativity, it's about respecting your customers' time and your kitchen's sanity.
Cocktails That Require an Instruction Manual
When did drinks become performance art?
I ordered what I thought was a whiskey cocktail recently. What arrived was a smoking wooden box. The server opened it with the solemnity of a priest revealing sacred relics. Inside was a glass with a single ice sphere and about two ounces of liquid. The smoke billowed out like a fog machine at a middle school dance.
It tasted fine. But it took four minutes to arrive, two minutes to present, and cost $19. For that price, I expected the smoke to carry me home.
I'm not against creativity. I've been a brewer. I appreciate craft. But there's a line between "elevated experience" and "I just want a drink before my pasta gets cold."
For those thinking about restaurant new business ventures, here's a thought: spectacle is memorable, but speed and consistency build loyalty. Your signature cocktail can be clever without requiring a theater degree to serve it.
The Death of the Breadbasket
Can we talk about bread for a second?
I remember when you sat down at a restaurant and bread just appeared. Warm bread. With butter. For free. It was civilized. It was welcoming. It said, "We're glad you're here. Have some carbs."
Now? Bread is a $7 add-on. And it comes with "whipped cultured butter with sea salt and herbs," which is a lot of words for butter.
I'm not saying restaurants should give everything away. I understand food costs. I've managed P&Ls. I've done the spreadsheets. But I also know that the feeling of generosity, the unexpected gesture, creates customers for life.
If you're working with a restaurant investment partner or exploring restaurant consulting options, don't overlook the psychology of hospitality. Sometimes the small touches generate the biggest returns.
Servers Who Vanish Into the Mist
I've been a server. I know how hard the job is. I've worked doubles. I've handled the Friday night rush with three tables in full meltdown. I have nothing but respect for front-of-house professionals.
But lately, I've noticed a phenomenon where the server appears exactly twice: once to take the order, and once to drop the check. The middle of the meal? A mystery. My water glass sits empty. My side of ranch never arrives. I'm waving at shadows.
This isn't the server's fault most of the time. It's a management and staffing issue. And it's an opportunity. Operators focused on restaurant growth need to invest in training and retention. Because the meal experience lives or dies in those middle moments, the refills, the check-ins, the "can I grab you anything else?"
That's where loyalty is built. Or lost.
What Andy Rooney Would Have Said
In his final 60 Minutes commentary, Andy Rooney made a simple request: "If you do see me in a restaurant, please, just let me eat my dinner."
I think about that quote whenever I'm navigating a tablet ordering system, or waiting for my cocktail to stop smoking, or scanning a QR code for the fourth time while my phone battery dies.
Restaurants should feel like a break from the chaos: not an extension of it.
At Restaurant Finance Advisors, we work with operators who understand that hospitality isn't about following every trend. It's about creating experiences people actually want to return to. Sometimes that means high-tech innovation. Sometimes that means handing someone a laminated menu and a basket of bread.
And honestly? I'd take the bread.
Keywords: restaurant consulting, restaurant investment, restaurant new business, restaurant growth, find money your restaurants, QR code menus, restaurant customer experience, hospitality trends 2026
Meta Description: A humorous Sunday take on QR codes, restaurant customization madness, and why Andy Rooney would have preferred a laminated menu.
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