If you're anything like most Americans, you may have found something very special in food—happiness. For some reason, I can't help but think that this is what overweight Americans, about 70% of the US population, have discovered in food. But hey, I'm just going out on a limb here. Whatever the case may be, food has the power to make us happy. If you feel sad after eating a Thanksgiving turkey (I have yet to come across a person who feels this way), you should really consider seeking professional care.
I'm not much of a chef, so if I were to make myself a meal I could guarantee it would consist of two slices of bread and a spread of some sorts. Needless to say, I don't find the same level of satisfaction eating my measly sandwich as when I go out to eat dinner with my family. Restaurants are particularly known to employ psychology advantageously.
There are a few striking themes that Brian Wansink discusses in his book, Mindless Eating: Why We Eat More Than We Think that speak directly to food satisfaction at restaurants. With a few tricks, restaurants are able to make their food seem much better than it really is. Deception or strategic marketing? It's hard to tell the difference these days.
The first theme is adding geography to the equation. Would you want a hand-tossed thin crust pizza pie or would you want New York style pizza pie? Chances are that if you've been to New York, you might be reminded of that phenomenal slice of pizza you had at the best little pizzeria in the city and in hopes of finding the same slice of pizza, you'd go with the New York style pizza.
Another tactic is to add an element of nostalgia. Want a pretzel? Oh, I bet it would be much tastier coming from Auntie Anne's instead of The Pretzel Factory. See how that works? Well, I'm not too sure Auntie Anne's counts as a restaurant, but you get the point.
According to Wendy's website, the baja salad is "a hearty salad with a southwest flair, featuring fresh pico de gallo, guacamole and slow simmered chili, all topped with a red jalapeño dressing." Sensory details make this salad seem a whole lot more expensive than $5.99 if you ask me. And they even threw in "southwest flair" in there. Plus points for also having geographic reference.
I guess the next time I want to eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich I'll just tell myself I'm eating a New Jersey style childhood favorite PB&J sandwich with lavish peanut butter topped of with a drizzle of jelly. Getting hungry already.
I'm not much of a chef, so if I were to make myself a meal I could guarantee it would consist of two slices of bread and a spread of some sorts. Needless to say, I don't find the same level of satisfaction eating my measly sandwich as when I go out to eat dinner with my family. Restaurants are particularly known to employ psychology advantageously.
There are a few striking themes that Brian Wansink discusses in his book, Mindless Eating: Why We Eat More Than We Think that speak directly to food satisfaction at restaurants. With a few tricks, restaurants are able to make their food seem much better than it really is. Deception or strategic marketing? It's hard to tell the difference these days.
The first theme is adding geography to the equation. Would you want a hand-tossed thin crust pizza pie or would you want New York style pizza pie? Chances are that if you've been to New York, you might be reminded of that phenomenal slice of pizza you had at the best little pizzeria in the city and in hopes of finding the same slice of pizza, you'd go with the New York style pizza.
Another tactic is to add an element of nostalgia. Want a pretzel? Oh, I bet it would be much tastier coming from Auntie Anne's instead of The Pretzel Factory. See how that works? Well, I'm not too sure Auntie Anne's counts as a restaurant, but you get the point.
According to Wendy's website, the baja salad is "a hearty salad with a southwest flair, featuring fresh pico de gallo, guacamole and slow simmered chili, all topped with a red jalapeño dressing." Sensory details make this salad seem a whole lot more expensive than $5.99 if you ask me. And they even threw in "southwest flair" in there. Plus points for also having geographic reference.
I guess the next time I want to eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich I'll just tell myself I'm eating a New Jersey style childhood favorite PB&J sandwich with lavish peanut butter topped of with a drizzle of jelly. Getting hungry already.