Should dish descriptions list every ingredient?

No. List the hero ingredient, the treatment, and two or three supporting parts. Full ingredient and allergen detail belongs in the allergen panel, not the prose.

What about marketing words like ‘artisan’ or ‘handcrafted’?

Cut them. They don’t describe food, they describe the restaurant’s self-image. Use verbs the kitchen actually performs — seared, cured, smoked, fermented.

Do shorter menus really perform better?

Shorter dish lines perform better. Twelve words or fewer is enough for hero ingredient, treatment, supporting parts, and one grace note — and constraint kills most of the bad habits at once.

Writing dish descriptions that sell without overpromising.

Why most menu copy reads either like a recipe or like a parody of itself — and a working framework for dish descriptions that earn the order, manage the expectation, and respect the kitchen.

Crumb guide
Menu writing
Updated 25 April 2026

There are three kinds of bad menu writing. The first is the recipe: ‘Pan-fried sea bass fillet with crushed Jersey Royals, samphire, brown butter, capers, lemon.’ This is honest, but it sells nothing. The second is the parody: ‘Sea bass kissed by the Atlantic, cradled on a bed of ethically-foraged Jersey gold, finished with a whisper of nut-brown butter.’ This sells, and then disappoints. The third is worst — the marketing-MBA version: ‘Our signature sea bass experience.’

Good menu writing sits between these. It earns the order. It manages the guest’s expectation. And, critically, it respects the kitchen by describing food the kitchen actually makes.

The four parts of a working dish description.

The dish name does the announcing. The description does the work. Here is the structure we teach:

The hero ingredient — what is the dish about? One ingredient. Name the variety, the supplier, or the origin if it earns the line. ‘Castletownbere scallops’, not ‘scallops’.
The treatment — what does the kitchen do to it? Verbs, not adjectives. ‘Seared in beef fat’, not ‘expertly prepared’.
The supporting cast — two or three things, max. ‘Smoked celeriac, brown butter, pickled walnuts.’ Not seven.
The optional grace note — one phrase, one line, that gives the guest a reason to choose this dish over the one above it. Used sparingly, this is the line that sells. ‘Best eaten with the Sancerre.’

The rules.

Verbs over adjectives. ‘Seared’ tells the guest more than ‘delicious’. ‘Cured for 48 hours’ tells them more than ‘beautifully prepared’. Adjectives are how restaurants talk about themselves. Verbs are how chefs talk about food.

Names earn their line. If you say ‘Tipperary lamb’, the guest expects a reason. Was the supplier visited? Is it a specific breed? If the answer is ‘we just like saying Tipperary’, cut it.

Don’t write what’s allergen-obvious. ‘Contains gluten, dairy, eggs’ has no place in your dish description. That’s what your allergen system is for. Free up the prose for the things only prose can carry.

Cut every adverb. ‘Carefully’, ‘lovingly’, ‘expertly’, ‘perfectly’, ‘beautifully’. None of these belong on a menu. The guest assumes you cared. If they have to be told, you didn’t.

Read it aloud. If a member of your front-of-house team can’t say the line without smirking, the guest can’t read it without rolling their eyes.

The 12-word test.

Constraint helps. Try writing every dish description in 12 words or fewer for a week. You’ll be amazed what survives. Twelve words is enough for hero ingredient, treatment, two supporting parts, and a grace note. It’s not enough for adverbs, hedges, or the third compound adjective.

Examples that pass the 12-word test:

Castletownbere scallops, smoked celeriac, brown butter, pickled walnut. (10)
Slow-roasted lamb shoulder, anchovy, mint, Jersey Royals. (8)
Cured Hereford beef, charred sourdough, horseradish cream, watercress. (8)

Examples that fail and shouldn’t be on your menu:

‘Our chef’s signature interpretation of a classic French bistro favourite, finished tableside with a flourish of fresh herbs and a drizzle of estate-grown olive oil.’ (28)

What about specials and tasting menus?

Tasting menus get a single line per course or no line at all. Specials get the same structure as the main menu, written by the chef the day they’re added — not by a manager copying yesterday’s format. If the dish changes, the line changes. This is, incidentally, why daily-changing menus need a digital tool. A spreadsheet won’t keep up.

One last thing: prices.

Don’t put currency symbols. Don’t put ‘.00’. Don’t right-align with dot leaders. The most expensive restaurants in the world write prices as a quiet number at the end of the line, in the same weight as the body. The guest knows what ‘34’ means. Crumb defaults to this for a reason.

The point.

Menu writing is not marketing. It’s hospitality. The job is to help the guest order well, and to set an expectation the kitchen can deliver against. Everything else is showing off — by the writer, not the kitchen.

Frequently asked.

Should dish descriptions list every ingredient?: No. List the hero ingredient, the treatment, and two or three supporting parts. Full ingredient and allergen detail belongs in the allergen panel, not the prose.
What about marketing words like ‘artisan’ or ‘handcrafted’?: Cut them. They don’t describe food, they describe the restaurant’s self-image. Use verbs the kitchen actually performs — seared, cured, smoked, fermented.
Do shorter menus really perform better?: Shorter dish lines perform better. Twelve words or fewer is enough for hero ingredient, treatment, supporting parts, and one grace note — and constraint kills most of the bad habits at once.

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