The Full Story Behind RestaurantMenus.online
You've probably read the short version on my About page. This is the long one — how a Chinese family pack turned into a business, and why I now can't stop thinking about how badly small restaurants get treated online.
It started early in 2026. I had friends staying, and when a group like that lands on my doorstep, a Chinese family pack is the easy answer — there's something in there for everyone, and nobody has to agree on a single dish. Simple, I thought. Except I couldn't actually find one. Every search sent me to a broken link, a dead Facebook page, or a Tripadvisor listing with a menu photo that looked about ten years old. In the end I just rang one of the restaurants direct. The prices on the menu were badly out of date, but they still had the family pack, so we ordered that plus a couple of prawn dishes for pickup.
While I was there I asked the owner why she didn't have a website. She laughed and said she barely knows how to send an email — her son handles “that sort of thing,” and he's got his own life to be getting on with.
Why so many restaurants have no website
That answer stuck with me. I went and looked into it properly, and it turns out this isn't rare at all — a GoDaddy-commissioned study found 59% of Australian small businesses have no website at all. It's not hard to see why once you dig in. A website isn't just expensive to build, it has to be maintained — and if you're only logging in every few months, remembering your username and password is half the battle. So it falls to whichever kid in the family is willing to help, and kids grow up and get busy. The menu that should be changing with the seasons just... doesn't.
What being found online is actually costing them
Then I looked at what these restaurants were actually paying to be found online instead. Delivery platforms charge anywhere from 25% to 35% of the total order — most independents land around 30% — plus extra fees on top if you want promoted listings or marketing reach. Some platforms will build you a “free” website, but your restaurant's name gets jammed onto the end of their web address, you can't change your own menu without asking permission, and it can cost up to $199 a month for the privilege. None of it was ever really yours. It can be pulled at any time, for any reason.
Which is exactly what happened with Menulog. It held close to a quarter of the Australian delivery market and simply shut its doors in November 2025 — gone, with no real notice restaurants could act on. A lot of businesses lost their entire online presence overnight, through no fault of their own. Facebook isn't much of a backup plan either — nobody opens Facebook when they're deciding what to eat. Your own website, paired with a Google Business Profile that's actually kept up to date, is still the best way for people to find you. And a menu that changes — specials, new dishes, letting the chef play a little and see what lands — is what keeps regulars coming back rather than scrolling past you.
Every site I build has a print-friendly takeaway menu button baked in too, so there's never more than one place that needs updating when something changes.
Making the menu work harder
I'll always push restaurants to make their menu work harder: a takeaway-for-one for the office worker on their break, a team lunch that works dine-in or takeaway, a family pack for a household or a group of mates. And then there's the solo diner — one of the fastest-growing groups in dining, and not the stingy tipper you'd expect. There's real, untapped opportunity in menu items built for a table of one. (I'll also always lobby for more duck on the menu. That one's entirely for me.)
Where I come from
None of this came out of nowhere for me. I grew up in a household running small businesses, trained as an accountant, then moved into software — years spent helping small operators with accounting and custom systems before a long stretch at TechnologyOne, implementing financial systems and running support and development teams, including time on the strategy team tackling the organisation's biggest problems. I've spent a career inside how businesses actually run, and what I saw happening to restaurants — the commissions, the hidden costs, the setup fees, refunds that vanish with no recourse — genuinely gets under my skin. None of it is necessary. It's just what happens when nobody's offered an alternative.
To be clear, I'm not telling anyone to ditch the delivery platforms. They're genuinely useful for discovery, and plenty of customers will always order through them. But there's a growing tiredness out there with paying $30 for a sweet and sour pork. I've done it myself — found a dish on a delivery app, then gone hunting for the restaurant's actual website so I could order direct instead. Usually because I'd spotted a proper duck dish and wanted to be sure it'd actually turn up.
I'm looking forward to getting to know every restaurant that comes across my desk between now and Christmas — and hearing about their duck specials.
PS. The wonton soup incident
I once ordered two wonton soups through a delivery platform. A burrito and chips turned up instead. I wasn't well and just wanted soup. By the time I'd sorted it out, the restaurant had closed for the night — and I later learned they'd have had that order reversed on them anyway, getting nothing for it after the fact, through no fault of their own. It's the restaurant and the customer who wear the cost every time something goes wrong. That's just not good enough.
Ready to get your own site sorted? Head back to the About page for the offer, or get in touch directly.