When I was a young teenager, around 13-14 years old, I was intrigued by a sign hanging outside this tiny pet shop in the tony enclave of Westmount. The sign read:
YOUNG SINGING CANARIES
(That really sing!)
While still three years away from my first marketing course, the oddness of the message struck me, and after a few aborted attempts, I finally mustered up enough courage to enter the shop and ask the origins of the sign.
The owner, a stereotypical "little old lady" of about 75 years, explained that the sign once only read "Young Singing Canaries!"...but still drew a stream of curious would-be customers who asked: "Do they REALLY sing?" She told me that by adding the second line, she ended up answering less questions and selling more birds.
So, over three decades later and thousands of miles away, cut to the Spice Temple restaurant in Sydney. (Yes, I am still in Australia but am actually writing you on my iPad poolside from the Thala Beach Resort in Port Douglas, near the Great Barrier Reef.) I has dinner there last week and was dazzled by an ambience of darkness broken only by narrowly-focused spot lighting on the table settings throughout the place; think opium den meets upscale Chinese cuisine (that's it at right).
The menu was a trip unto itself; each one fronted by a stunning photo portrait of a different Asian woman, and filled with dish descriptions that ran the gamut between straightforward plain to the work of the world's greatest copywriter after ingesting multiple hallucinogenic drugs. For example:
•Three-shot Chicken
•Fish Drowned in Heaven-facing Chillies
•Strange Flavor White Cut Chicken
•Beef Filet in Fire Water
•Espresso Shaken with Tequila, Hazelnut and a Touch of Chili to Awaken the Senses
...and my favorite:
•Hot, Sweet, Sour and Numbing Pork
Numbing pork? Now, unless you're a rabbi, how does one resist that? I ordered it and it was better than it sounds. In fact, after three pieces, my mouth was so numb I could've sworn said pork dish was basted in novocaine. Frankly, I COULDN'T have sworn as the "freezing" of my mouthal region was so pronounced that I was actually slurring my words...before biting through the left side of my lower lip (a laceration that took a week to heal; last night was the first when I didn't cringe while brushing my teeth).
But man, that was a helluva dish!
Like I did at the pet shop, I called over the owner to ask about dish descriptions. He confirmed what I had thought--that the best-selling dishes were the ones with the most tell-tale, curiosity-spiking, flamboyant sell jobs. When I asked why every dish wasn't bestowed with the same type of way-out wording, he explained that while all great, not every one was "special." So to avoid disappointment, he played up his superstars to the hilt.
So what's the lesson here? Well, there are a few:
•First, words are important. One word well-placed can be the difference between a sale and a walk-away. Not enough people or businesses realize this...or care. Check your menu, or website, or flyers, or catalogs. Are you "selling" or just tossing out words?
•Second, never promise more than you can deliver, and always deliver more than you promised. Imagine how disappointed I'd be had the pork merely been spicy. You can get spicy pork in the frozen-food section at your neighborhood supermarket. It's about as special as butter. "Numbing" pork sparked curiosity...and then sparked a transformation of my mouth. On the other hand, steamed rice is steamed rice; if you can make it special, do so and tell me so. If you can't, don't try to bullshit me.
•Finally, not all dishes--or canaries--are created equal. Let your superstars sing loudly...and surround them with the supporting cast. All great teams, and meals, need both.
And now, one last application of that lip medicine and I should be done...