In recent years, the dining scene has seen a rise not only in culinary artistry but also in design sensibility. Once, the emphasis leaned heavily on the star power of chefs and the glamour of the setting, with banquet chairs and ribbon accents hinting at celebration. Today, opening a small coffeehouse or cafe can feel a touch less glamorous, as if the very idea carries a bias against fashioning a space with a designer’s touch. A compact 15 square meter shop can succeed with a thoughtful concept and a curated array of handcrafted ceramics.
These shifts touched more than just interiors and plating. They touched menus as well. Some observers welcomed the change; others preferred the older, more familiar approach. And so began a conversation about what a menu should look like in the modern era.
What has become the standard for menus in recent years? Typically, they span a few pages, usually white or beige, never flashy, and never crowded with images. The tone stays calm, the typography minimalist, and each section features a small number of dishes described by their core ingredients rather than lengthy narratives. The intention is clear: let the dishes speak through restraint rather than flourish.
On the surface, this pared-down style can feel stylish. It avoids visual noise and sidesteps the avalanche of special offers that can distract a guest at the moment of decision. The guest remains the central focus, not the parade of marketing banners in front of them.
And yet there is a downside. When a cafe serves something quintessentially familiar, like a tartare or a green salad, the menu’s brevity can still be navigable. But if the menu relies on concise lines with little elaboration, guests may wonder what exactly is in a dish. If waitstaff struggle to describe items confidently, the situation can slide toward confusion rather than clarity.
Consider a plate described as “pomegranate, corn, green butter.” The expectation might be a vibrant salad, yet the actual presentation can veer toward a few leaves of greens paired with a generous scatter of corn and pomegranate seeds. The promised greens may be sparse, replaced by a more restrained leaf assortment, leaving diners to question whether the dish truly meets the name. The issue is not misrepresentation so much as ambiguity when descriptive depth is scarce.
Similarly, a listing such as “pears, green salad, nuts” might surprise guests if the dish includes cheese that some diners avoid for dietary reasons. The discrepancy can be minor yet meaningful, and it highlights how a lean menu design can still create friction if essential details are left unstated or unclear.
In Moscow, restaurateurs have observed both endings of this spectrum. Some embraced a restrained, almost architectural approach to menus, while others pivoted toward something more emotionally engaging. A recent trend features menu descriptions and sensory impressions that go beyond the ingredients listed in bold. Dishes are framed with evocative lines like “the dish where people go to Georgia,” or “sweet farm tomatoes and delicate stracciatella with homemade raw-family butter,” or a blueberry cake inspired by a grandmother’s recipe. The result is an immediate urge to order, driven by mood and memory as much as by mechanics. The goal is to tap into anticipation before a single bite is taken, inviting guests to imagine the experience before they taste it.
This approach matters not only for guests who seek a quick sense of what a dish offers, but also for the restaurant itself. A menu that speaks through imagery and emotion becomes a conversation starter, shaping how the kitchen and front-of-house communicate with guests. It can guide choices without overwhelming them with minutiae, while still leaving room for curiosity and discovery. In this sense, the menu becomes a bridge between the operator, the chef, and the diners, rather than a mere list of capabilities.
There is a consideration that many guests appreciate: menus can act as a subtle sales tool without appearing pushy. Descriptive language and evocative textures can steer selections with elegance, particularly when paired with thoughtful wine descriptors. A concise note under a wine listing—such as “crisp, juicy Riesling with hints of summer apple”—can offer sensory cues that help a guest imagine the pairing, even if the guest’s knowledge of wine is limited. Sometimes simple organization by country or vintage is enough to guide choices, because for many, that information provides a framework rather than a barrier.
Are there preferred flavors or subjects to showcase in a glass? A well-curated wine list might include options that highlight plant-forward profiles or charitable-sourced fruits for the adventurous palate. The menu then becomes a living dialogue, inviting guests to explore textures and tastes that align with their current mood and preferences. And the question emerges: should a menu function as part of the ambiance or as a direct line to the kitchen? The answer, in practice, is both. A menu is more than a document of what the chef can prepare. It is a dynamic conversation between—on one side—the restaurant operator and on the other—guests. When questions go unanswered, curiosity falters and the dialogue stalls.
The author presents a personal view, one that may diverge from editorial positions. In essence, the core message remains: a menu can be a powerful tool for selling a concept as well as a dish, but it requires balance. The best menus communicate clearly, invite imagination, and respect the guest’s needs. In a world where dining is about taste and experience, the right descriptions can help guests feel understood and eager to participate in the meal. This is a reminder that menus, interiors, and staff coordination all contribute to the overall story a restaurant tells. It is a story that diners carry with them long after the last bite—and that, perhaps, is where the real value lies (attribution).