GENIXCONSEIL

I read your restaurant without you sending me a single piece of paper.

Everything starts from what it already shows: your menu, your prices, the market around you, what your guests write, what the public registers publish. The machine fetches it and cross-checks it, and I read it with forty years of the trade behind me.

I look at your restaurant from the street, with a little more attention.

You receive a document. Your restaurant, and yours alone, read from the outside.

The document carries dates, sources, statuses. Each finding says where it comes from: verified, cross-checked, or named as a blind spot. When I do not know, I say so, rather than filling a gap with an invented figure.

You receive it. You read. You judge for yourself whether it gets it right.

You will know where you stand, and where to begin.

Your figures bring the other half. A dish your guests talk about, which ties up two stations on a Thursday night and earns you the least on the menu, appears when your menu, your reviews and your invoices are laid side by side. Only then.

What was a range becomes an amount. From there, you decide the level we work at, from a single dish to the whole restaurant and where it is heading.

Your figures stay between us.

Every restaurant keeps an element of the unknown until its figures are on the table. After the first look, here is how the work moves forward, and what is charged along the way.

We talk. OFF THE CLOCK
I want to understand why you want to go further, and what you are really looking for. Together we isolate what matters in your restaurant.

The plan: I open your file. ESTIMATED TIME: ONE TO TWO DAYS
I enter your figures, calibrate the system on your restaurant, and redo the whole analysis on them.
Like an architect’s plan: it is drawn before anyone builds, and it is paid for.

We talk again. OFF THE CLOCK
I show you what really stands out in your restaurant, the leads, and the solutions when they are clear. You know where you stand, what to begin with, and how many days the next stage will take.

The build. PRICED BEFORE IT STARTS
Your figures point to the areas we work on, and your question decides the order. Its time is priced once your figures are read, and it stays fixed. Three areas come up more often than the others.

Knowing where the money goes.
Food cost, the margin of each service, the weight of each type of guest, and the point where one more cover stops paying and starts costing.
You keep a five-line dashboard, ten minutes a month, that tells you whether the month is holding up.

The menu, measured against your figures.
Each dish at its cost price, what actually sells set against what you think you sell, the prices reworked one by one, and a signature worth coming to you for.

Becoming known for what you are.
Everything that speaks about you outside, brought back into line, your story carried where your guests look, and the visitors staying two hundred metres away, finally able to read you.

Beyond these areas lies the whole trade. Reworking a restaurant from top to bottom: its organisation, its people, its economics. Rethinking what it is and whom it speaks to. Creating another one, elsewhere, and making it last.

The follow-up. ON REQUEST
The day a question comes up, you call me. Once, or from time to time, on what you bring.

All this work is done remotely, from documents, by video call or by phone: your service stays your service. Travel is priced separately, when the work requires it. Each stage is paid when it is ordered.

A menu tells everything about a restaurant to those who can read it. What is prepared once and used in three dishes, or what opens fifteen fronts at the height of service. Where the prices were calculated, and where they were frozen for years and then hastily brought up to date. What it puts forward, and what keeps it alive: rarely the same line.

That is where I began with every restaurant I have advised, long before I had a machine. There were many of them, in Russia above all. There, I worked with the Maison Dellos and Ginza Project groups.

I created a restaurant in Moscow, La Colline, and took it to Santorini. Two countries, two markets, two menus, and the same house.

GENIXCONSEIL grew out of this. I wanted to know whether that reflex could be written down. I took it apart step by step and put it back together as kitchen spec sheets: what I look at, in what order, and what should alert me.

It took me months, and those sheets now run to several hundred pages. Computer scientists call it an expert system: the judgement of a man of the trade, written down so that a machine can replay it.

This reading now has a name and a written method: menu intelligence.

In the kitchen, we know the flaw of a system that judges itself. A brigade tastes, corrects, settles back into agreement, and at the pass everyone is right. The only judgement that counts is made in the dining room, by the one who did not cook.

I hand my sheets to a brigade of agents, each at its station, working without seeing one another so that two errors do not prop each other up.

Then comes the one who did not cook. I call it the Adversary: it produces nothing, it looks for whatever was put forward without proof. It challenges, it blocks, and as long as it blocks, the file stays open.

For everything I put forward, I can show you where it comes from, and what I cannot see, I name. The last judge is in the dining room. It is you.

I love this work as much as I loved service.

In a few hours, the machine does the groundwork that used to take me a week, with a team: intelligence now costs less, and that is why the first look is on the house. The reading is always mine, and my time remains limited: I alone decide whether to say yes, or no.

Tell me in a few lines who you are and what you are looking for. I will answer quickly.