Google menu sleuths who plan their restaurant orders leave a sour taste in my mouth

If video killed the radio star, then the internet pretty much killed anticipation. With most goods and services just a couple of clicks away, attention spans are waning and patience is wearing thin. So, buckle up and sit tight for a Gen X gripe. I am married to a menu sleuth. This means that no matter how far ahead the restaurant is booked, my husband will know exactly what he’s going to order when we get there. He knew what he was going to eat when went to Rang Mahal (peppered lamb chop, butter naan); Pitfire Pizza (Pepperoni Primo, garlic knots) and The Maine (600g rib-eye, triple-cooked fries and steamed broccolini, please), to name but a few. His rationale for sleuthing is that he can start looking forward to his dinner in advance. Perhaps pre-planning any belt-loosening which might be necessary, or what colour shirt to wear following the infamous sushi-dropped-in-soy-sauce-while-wearing-white-shirt incident of 2013, which remains a sore subject to this day. Sleuth is an interesting word. Think sleuth and the likes of Poirot , Miss Marple or Sherlock Holmes spring to mind. The sleuth is cerebral and measured, their decisions thoughtful, their actions deliberate. All of which must make me a Menu Moriarty, forever wondering why anyone would willingly forfeit the joyous spontaneity that comes from being presented with a list of never-seen-before choices and experiencing the thrill of thinking: “Oooh, what shall I have?” Perusing the menu is part of the whole restaurant experience, along with that awkward pull-out-sit-down chair dance between you and the maitre d', which I have never quite mastered. And the frosting on the cake – the cherry is the actual arrival of the food – is discussing the menu together. “This looks nice,” you might say, pointing to something featuring heirloom tomatoes and a balsamic glaze. “Did you see that they have…,” your dining companion might reply, having spotted a dish you like. But if you already know what you’re going to have thanks to menu sleuthing, this removes or at least seriously impairs the casual chatter that is part of the restaurant experience. Those who know me might assume I would be a big fan of menu sleuthing, because I am that most wretched of dinner party guests: the picky eater. My pickiness is esoteric and, even though I say it myself, both adorable and quirky. For example, I like prawns, but only the small ones, because the big meaty ones freak me out. I am not a vegetarian and enjoy a good steak, but if I’m invited to a dinner party at your house, I will tell you that I am vegetarian because I dislike meat being cooked for me if I cannot personally oversee its preparation. And what host doesn’t love a guest in their kitchen prodding at the chicken fricassee and asking: “Are you sure it’s done on the inside?” In my defence, I had a bad experience once with a pink chicken at a dinner party, from which I have never fully recovered. Am I against restaurants having their menus online? Of course not. For those who are picky (not me, obviously, other people), have allergies or certain preferences it can be useful. But if you’re Googling the menu just to decide what you’re going to eat three weeks from now, quite frankly, you’re abusing the system and should have your internet privileges revoked. If it’s a steak restaurant, let’s assume there’ll be steak and a vegetarian option based around cauliflower, or worst case scenario, a salad. If it’s an Italian restaurant, assume variations on pasta will be available, and so forth. You don’t need to know exactly what’s on the menu. For me it comes down to the fact there’s not much mystery in life these days. For every vague question you have, there’s thousands of YouTube videos explaining, debunking and offering alternative theories to the answer. For every passing query there’s a plethora of TikToks, Instagram posts and hashtags dedicated to examining every angle while also suggesting you get ready with them and enjoy their outfit of the day. For me, menu sleuthing removes a little bit of the fun, anticipatory not-knowingness that comes from discovering a new restaurant. I just told my husband I’ve written this column about him. “I’m not sure about sleuth,” he said. “I’d call it being a connoisseur.”