The Menu That Won't Shut Up

You sit down, open the menu, and immediately need a break.
Every dish is an essay. Every ingredient has a backstory. There’s smoked-this, foraged-that, a foam of something you didn’t ask for, and a reference to a season you’re not currently in.

Menus used to be quiet. A few words. A bit of restraint. A list that trusted the kitchen more than the copywriting. But somewhere along the way, we started performing. And now every appetizer arrives with a short novel.

This isn’t about unfamiliar ingredients — it’s about insecurity. About restaurants trying to convince you something’s impressive instead of letting it be impressive. You can feel when a menu’s trying too hard. You can taste it, too.

Sometimes, the best description is no description. Just the name of the thing, done well.