I went to a relatively new beer establishment tonight in Manhattan. It’s been open about a month, and it’s operated by people who own another beer place in town, so I was hoping for a positive experience. But what I got instead - within a minute of walking through the door - was an experience that left me frustrated and disappointed. Yet my whole issue could’ve been easily addressed with a simple change in how they present their beers. I’ve talked about this a lot before, but it’s remarkable how many bars screw up something as simple as a beer menu.
Let me lay out my experience. I walked into the bar and it was crowded. It’s got a steady after-work crowd, so it was about two deep at the bar. I looked around at the tap handles, but some were unmarked, and others were too dimly-lit to make out. Thankfully, I saw a paper beer menu down the bar, but it was far out of reach, so I flagged down a bartender after a couple of minutes of effort to asked for one of the beer menus they keep behind the bar.
He gladly obliged. In a perfect world, at this point, I look at the menu and order, he pours it, and we complete the transaction.
Unfortunately, I knew I’d have a problem from the second I held the menu in my hand. It was on heavy card stock, and after a simple glance, I knew it was one of THOSE menus. THOSE menus are printed by bar proprietors who are simply too lazy to print a new menu when something changes. As a result, of the 18 beers they listed, five entries were not beers, but mere concepts of beer. Among them were “Brooklyn Seasonal,” “Guest Beer,” and “Wandering Star Rotating Cask.” None of this helped me when ordering a beer. I frantically looked around the crowded bar, hoping there was a chalkboard or sign that indicated what these mystery beers are. No such luck.
Of course, at this point, the bartender was long gone helping someone else, and I was still two-deep from the bar with absolutely no clue what to order. Sure, I could’ve opted for one of the real, actual beers on the menu, but that Wandering Star cask could’ve been something really tasty, and I really wasn’t interested in a $9 Allagash White (don’t get me started on that).
After a couple minutes, I got the bartender’s attention. I was loud, so I raised my voice to ask him, “what’s your Wandering Star cask?”
He shook his head, so I shouted louder, “WHAT’S YOUR WANDERING STAR CASK?”
He shook his head again, but said back, “the only cask we have on right now is Brooklyn.”
“BROOKLYN WHAT,” I shouted back, loudly but politely.
The bartender was distracted, but I couldn’t blame him - he doesn’t have time for this sort of chit-chat when there are 60 people at the bar. “An ale.”
Dejected, I looked back down again at the menu and he walked away. The only cask they had was Brooklyn? I saw three cask ales listed on the menu I had in my hand, and none of them were Brooklyn. And it was an ale? Well, that’s helpful, since all but two beers in Brooklyn’s lineup are ales.
I looked down at the menu again in frustration, and finally just gave up and decided to order a beer that was listed on the menu. I chose the Youngs London Ale, an English Pale Ale that I didn’t recall having recently. When I finally got the bartender’s attention again, I called out, “a YOUNGS LONDON ALE.”
He looked at the taps, which I signaled to only because I saw a Youngs tap, then turned back to me. “Sorry, we don’t have that right now. We have Boddington’s if you want something similar.”
I have to give the bartender credit. He was trying to diffuse the situation and offered what is pretty much the only reasonable alternative. But I didn’t really want a Boddington’s. Thankfully, I had a second choice in mind, “an Old Crafty Hen?”
He nodded. Success! I finally had a beer, about ten minutes after my first interaction with the bartender.
Of course, the moral of this long, drawn out story is quite simple for bar owners. Enough with the fancy card stock or laminated beer menus. If you’re a bar that’s planning on having any flux on your beer menu, print it on a sheet of paper and change the menu when something changes. An updated beer menu at this bar tonight could’ve saved me and the bartender several minutes each. Have a rotating tap (or five)? Tell your customers what those beers are. Did a keg kick and you’re going to be out of that beer until your delivery next Monday? Take it off the menu - or even cross it off with a pen. Or put a chalkboard in a conspicuous place to let us know what’s changed. And if for some reason, you worry that taking away those fancy menus or adding a chalkboard will ruin the feng shui of your bar, perhaps you’re misunderstanding the whole point of a beer menu. You don’t have a beer menu to look pretty; you have a beer menu to tell customers what beers you’re selling. If it doesn’t do that, you’re doing it wrong.
This isn’t rocket science. Accurate beer menus will make your customers happier, your employees happier, and you won’t have to keep apologizing every time someone orders something you don’t have.
There are plenty of other things bars can do to alienate their customers (charging $9 for a pint of Allagash White is one of them). But this one is such a simple fix. If your beer menu changes, print a new goddamn beer menu.
- Chris O’Leary