I want you to imagine you are going to a top French restaurant.1 It has a couple of Michelin stars. Your foodie friends rave about it, and one even helped you get a table.
You and your significant other walk in, you are greeted by the owner, who mentions your foodie friend warmly. She seats you at your table, suggests a refreshing summer aperitif, and hands you both the menu. It is a single heavyweight cream page of handmade card, dated today, with 3 starters, 3 main courses, 2 deserts, and a cheese selection, written in a nonchalant yet elegant calligraphy. Every word on the menu evokes a response from your mind and teases your tastebuds, even though you don’t speak much French. As you sip the lavender infused champagne, which for a moment transponds you into deckchair under a shady tree overlooking a floral meadow in Provence, an amuse bouche arrives. It is a dice-sized cube of brightest green, on a delicate, antique silver spoon. You gingerly place it on your tongue, unsure what to expect and the essence of a 1000 freshly picked peas overwhelms your tastebuds with a feeling of such exquisite bliss, you can’t wait to decide your order, but at the same time you want the meal to last for eternity. The waiter’s guidance is inobtrusive, helpful and perfectly tailored to your questions.
The meal follows, each course is more equisite than the last, the wine pairings divine, and the plates disappear between courses without you even noticing. As you sip your digestif, the chef pops out of the kitchen to say hello. You ask her how did on earth did she do that thing with the peas? She smiles, and gives you a signed copy of her latest cookbook, and happily chats about her favourite frying pan and chopping knife, but only when you insist on more detail. You gladly pay the bill and tip generously, even though it means your food budget is blown for goodness how long. You talk about meal for years afterwards.
If we break that down for a moment: The restaurant clearly knows its ICP, and you clearly know what the restaurant does. The booking process serves as a discovery and qualification exercise. After all of 10,000 people eating out in your city that evening, only 30 fit in the restaurant. The menu and amuse bouche combine to tell you almost everything you need. Expectations are clearly and precisely set, and exceeded. Price isn’t a decision factor. You become a reference, sharing photos on your insta.
Now let’s look at how many founders try to sell their software.
The guests sit down in the restaurant. The founder enthusiastically starts off by explaining in great detail how he and his team make his favourite item. The guests are thirsty, but he doesn’t notice.
“We find the best cow from a specialist 800 year old farm in Japan, the cow even has its own name, and after it is butchered humanely we hang the rump for 35 days in perfectly controlled dry and fly-free room, and the master carver slices the meat with a 300 year old knife that has been handed down for generations. We then grill it at 400 degrees for 67 seconds one side and 63 on the other, in olive oil from Tuscany, which was harvested and pressed by hand by Giovanni. We boil the bones and liver for 3 days at 132,5 degrees and use the stock to make the jus, adding rosemary from the Pyrenees and 400 mls of bordeaux, and artisan salt from Tibet. We have delicate china plates from Dresden, which we warm to 5 degrees above room temp. We use a different but equally old knife to chop the carrots into julienne form. We then steam them in our German precision steamer for 75 seconds. We arrange the food on the plate in an avant garde way, with the steak resting on a carrot substructure. The chef trained under Paul Bocuse and has published 4 best selling cookbooks. Gartner says we are cool chefs, and we are funded the same investors as Yo Sushi. ”
One of the guests then comments, “I’m a vegetarian.”
Advice for founders
Think really hard who your ICP is. Almost all the time you can be narrower than you imagine. Don’t be the pasta-sushi-curry restaurant. The longer the menu, the less you know your ICP.
Don’t skip on discovery, but make it efficient for the buyer.
The how you do the thing you do is really important, after all it is the product. But almost all your customers will want to know the why and what before they are interested in the how. Is your talk track menu or recipe? 99% of time it should be menu. Save the recipe for when they really ask for it. You need to inspire their imagination, not overwhelm them with facts.
What you leave off the menu is as important as what you put on it.
In your first few minutes of your meeting, what’s your amuse bouche? How will you delight them so that they can’t wait to see more.
Within your ICP, know the needs and desires of the key players. They may be different. Don’t assume.
You have the curse of knowledge. Manage that carefully.
Next time you do a remote pitch, go through the transcript afterwards with a colleague and highlight what is menu and recipe. Step up the menu, reduce the recipe.
Look at your website. Is it really aimed at your ICP? Does it tell a story of an exquisite experience, or is it an cookbook index?
As I do when I remember, I’ll sign off with a tune for you. Frim-Fran Sauce from the brilliant Diane Krall.
I know that the Fat Duck isn’t a French restaurant, but I have a fond memory from more than 20 years ago of having a magnificent dinner there. I can still taste it in my mind. If you get a chance, do eat there, even if you have to do bread and jam for a while after.
Thank you so much for saying this so elegantly Thomas!
such a great article and perfect for my presales colleagues