The scanners read the street every night — offers on Google, Instagram, TikTok and Facebook, review themes, city events. Menus are re-read monthly, because that is how often a menu actually changes. When something moves, you get the counter-move, not a report.
Every competitor you track, their posts read again each night — the deal, the price on it, and the crossed-out one beside it where they printed one. Their menu is re-read monthly. Your district, in context.
When a rival puts a dish on offer, you hear about it that night. When they re-price the menu itself, the month they do it — not at the end of the quarter.
A competitor's 3-course lunch set launches 400m away and a counter-offer is drafted before morning. Approve it or ignore it.
Review themes across the street, name-free. Where competitors fall short is where your next offer wins.
Holidays, festivals, the race weekend that fills every table — flagged early enough to plan for it.
See where every dish sits in the street's band — and whether to hold, move, or feature it. With the reasoning.
You name a competitor. Nina — the analyst on your team — does the reading, and keeps doing it.
One handle or one Google listing is enough to start. You do not have to find their menu, their pages or their reviews — that is the job you are handing over.
Dish by dish, against yours. Where you overlap, where they have something you do not, and where your price sits next to theirs on the same plate.
What they are pushing, what lands, and what their guests keep complaining about. Themes, not screenshots — and never a name you could repeat.
A three-course lunch set that appears on their Google profile or their feed is picked up, priced against yours, and turned into a counter-move you can approve.
Public holidays, festivals, the race weekend that fills every table on the street. On your calendar early enough to change a rota and write a post.
Not five reports to read. One weekly strategy that looks across every competitor you watch and says where to play — refreshed on its own.
Ask any operator about the place across the road and they can tell you the prices, the queue, what it is good at. Ask when they last checked and it goes quiet. Nothing on that list stays true for long — and each part of it goes out of date at its own speed.
You walked past and read the board. Or a supplier mentioned it.
A price sits still for months and then moves overnight. Nobody announces it, and the old number stays in your head.
Their menu, read again dish by dish — with what each price did since the last read.
A customer tells you. Usually after they went there instead.
A lunch set can appear on a Tuesday and be gone by Friday. It is the fastest thing on the street and the one you hear about last.
Their promotions — the deal, the price, and the old price if they printed one next to it.
You follow them, and the app stopped showing you their posts months ago.
Every day. And what matters is not the post, it is which of their posts people actually reacted to.
Instagram, Facebook and TikTok — what went out, and what it did.
You looked them up once, saw 4.5, and never went back.
A rating barely moves. What people complain about moves a lot — and the complaint that keeps coming back is the gap you can take.
Their listing and the reviews on it, as themes rather than as a pile to read.
You find out a place opened when a regular says they tried it.
A street changes shape slowly and then all at once. The list you drew up two years ago is not the list.
Places near you at your kind of prices, put in front of you as suggestions you confirm — never added behind your back.
The Friday it lands, when every table on the street fills and yours does not.
Concerts, holidays, the long weekend nobody remembered. Useless the day of, worth a lot two weeks out.
Public holidays and nearby events, ranked by how close they really are to your door.
Nothing is read faster than it moves. Reading a menu every night would be three hundred and sixty-five scans a year to catch four price changes, and you would pay for all of them. So a menu is read monthly, a listing weekly, and the two things that really do change overnight — their posts and their offers — every day.
You do not have to track down their Instagram, their Facebook page, their Google listing or their menu. One name, or one link, is the whole of your job. Nina — the analyst on your team — goes and finds the rest over the days that follow, and then keeps them.
The rating, how many reviews it rests on, the hours they keep and the photos they have put up.
Dish by dish with the price beside it, in the order they print it — and from the second read on, what each price has done since.
The deal they are running now, read off the price card they posted — the promo price, and the struck-out price it discounts from where they printed one.
Not a pile of them to read. What their guests keep saying, and the thing they keep saying that you already do better.
Instagram, Facebook and TikTok, whichever of them they use — what they put out and which of it landed.
Every one of the above with your own numbers on the same line, because a rival's rating on its own is a fact and not an answer.
What she cannot read, she says so about. A private Instagram account is closed to everybody automated, us included; a place with no listing and no menu online has not published anything to read. You get what they are showing the street, and nothing else.
Comparing two menus on the name of the dish is how a coffee ends up measured against a cocktail. Three rules stop that, and each one is here because it went wrong first.
A cocktail bar down the road prints ESPRESSO under MARTINIS — vodka, coffee liqueur, hazelnut. You print Espresso under Coffee. Same word, and matching on the word said you were $11 cheap and should put your coffee up.
A known drink never meets a known dish, and a coffee never meets a cocktail.
Their house red is on the list by the glass and by the bottle. So is yours. Take the cheapest from one side and the dearest from the other and you get a gap of ten times, which is not a gap, it is an error.
Glass against glass, bottle against bottle. A bottle-only list never meets your glass price.
Three neighbours, three cappuccinos, three prices. Average them into one number and put it on a page headed with one rival's name, and you have quoted them for a price they do not charge — on the one screen you would take to a pricing decision.
Every price on the page names the place it came from. No street average standing in for anybody.
The first rule only fires when both menus actually said what a row was. Most of what gets read off a rival's menu says nothing of the kind, and where the category had to be worked out rather than read, that guess is never allowed to throw away a real match. A comparison you can stand behind, or a blank — never a confident wrong one.
Not five reports to open on a Monday. One read across everyone you watch, refreshed on its own each week and again whenever you ask — and every line of it points back at the thing that produced it.
Nobody on this street is posting about lunch. Two of them are quietly cheaper than you on pasta.
A thing one of them is doing that works, with the actual post that showed it working.
Café Nord films the pass at 7pm. Their three best posts this month are all the same twelve seconds of a pan.
The complaint that keeps coming back in their reviews, and the part of it you already do better.
Slow service on Fridays, in eleven of their last forty reviews. You seat forty and you turn them.
The subject none of them cover. An empty lane is worth more than a crowded one.
Not one of the five has posted about lunch in six weeks.
Specific posts, written in your voice rather than in general — because it has your menu and your last six months in front of it.
A Tuesday lunch set at $17, against their $20 — the three dishes your own menu already shows guests opening most.
How often and at what time the street posts, so you are not putting yours out into the busiest hour.
Four of the five post between 6 and 8pm. Nobody owns the morning.
Every line points back at the review or the post that produced it. An opinion you cannot trace is an opinion you cannot argue with — and this one is meant to be argued with, because the move at the end of it is still yours to approve.
Every one of these is a mechanism rather than a promise, and each is the more restrictive answer to a question we could have answered loosely.
A public Instagram Business or Creator account, a public Facebook Page, a public Google listing, a menu they published. A private account cannot be read by anything automated, ours included. Nothing here is anything they are not already showing the street.
A competitor's review is read once, turned into a single neutral sentence in your language, and the original wording is thrown away. No reviewer's name is kept. You get what their guests keep saying. You do not get a copy of their reviews.
A promo read off a photograph of a price board is not the same as a price typed on a menu. A weak read is marked unconfirmed instead of shown as a fact, and a discount is only ever called a discount when they printed the old price next to the new one.
Remove somebody from your list and everything gathered on them for you is deleted — their posts, their reviews, their menu, all of it. Add them back later and it starts from nothing.
What it feeds, once the street is being read
Your own place is read the same way, from the same public sources, so every comparison has both sides on it — and everything read about them is something anyone could read about you.
The difference between the plans is how many rivals you watch and how often they get read.
One competitor, read every week. Enough to see whether this tells you things you did not know.
Three competitors — usually the two nearest and the one you actually worry about.
Eight competitors, read every day. For a street where a lunch offer can appear on Tuesday and be gone by Friday.
Public information only — menus, prices, posts and reviews anyone can see.
No card, no setup call. Start free and the agents pick it up on their next shift.
