Anchovy Toast
Sourdough, cultured butter, two fillets laid like a hinge.
We don't hand you a catalogue of layouts to choose badly from. There is one template, and it has been tuned on real floors — search, categories, dietary filters, chef's picks and a running order note, all in a menu that opens in under a second.
The guest sees the same page on a phone — every row, rail and filter reflows to one column.
A guest who wants anchovies types “anchovy”, not scrolls past forty items.
Ten categories, thumb-sized, scrolling horizontally the way people expect.
Eight filters that stack. The count updates so nobody wonders if it worked.
What you want to sell today, one tap from the top of the page.
“Croissants at 08:00.” Guests close it and it stays closed.
Add as they browse. Whether it becomes a paid order is your call.
Three states, applied per item, visible at a glance on the card.
Every card has an image slot. No photo is better than a dim one — leave it empty.
The guest picks. A dim room and a sunny terrace are not the same reading condition.
Forty templates means thirty-nine of them are worse. We'd rather keep one correct and change it when a real kitchen tells us to.