Last November Jake called me. “I’m done, bro. Completely fucking done.”
He’d been open for six months. Maybe sold 40 tacos that whole week. Had eight grand left in his checking account and rent was due in twelve days.
See, Jake used to sell insurance. Made decent money but hated every second of it. One day he just snapped, quit, and decided to open a taco place because he’d figured out how to make these incredible fish tacos at home. Took his entire 401k – thirty-four thousand – plus money his dad lent him, and opened this little spot downtown.
The tacos were legitimately amazing. I’m talking about restaurant-quality goods. But Jake was serving like fifteen people a day on a good day. Most days were way worse.
The thing is, I’d seen this exact scenario before. My cousin Vinny had the same problem with his pizza joint in Brooklyn. Great food, empty restaurant, owner going insane. But Vinny figured out this thing called the 4 P’s of marketing for restaurants and completely turned it around.
So I drove over to Jake’s place the next afternoon. Took one look around and immediately knew what was wrong.
Your Product Is More Than Just Tacos
Jake woke up at 4:30 every morning to prepare. Drove to the fish market himself because “you can’t trust suppliers.” He was a total perfectionist, making everything from scratch—salsa, hot sauce, even pickled jalapeños..
But walking into his restaurant felt like solving a puzzle.
Where do you order? No clue. Menu was written on this tiny chalkboard in Jake’s terrible handwriting that you couldn’t read from more than two feet away. Tables were crammed together like sardines. The whole place felt chaotic and confusing.
I sat there for an hour and watched potential customers. This woman with two little kids walked in, looked around for thirty seconds, then left. A business guy in a suit came in during lunch rush, stood there looking lost, checked his phone, and walked out. It happened three times in one hour.
“What business are you in?” I asked Jake.
“Mexican food.”
Nope. Wrong answer.
Jake wanted to make sure his customers felt great about their lunch breaks. The taco was just part of that equation.
That weekend we completely rearranged everything. Put up this huge sign that said “START HERE” with an arrow pointing to the register. Rewrote the menu on a proper board with readable fonts. Spaced out tables so people could actually walk without bumping into strangers.
Added stupid simple stuff too. Paper towel dispenser that actually worked. Water station so people didn’t have to ask. Little basket of mints by the exit.
Jake’s fish tacos tasted exactly the same on Monday. But suddenly people were sitting down instead of getting everything to-go. Staying longer. Bringing friends next week.
This regular customer – guy named Pete who worked construction nearby – told Jake, “The place feels totally different now. Like you actually want customers here.”
Pricing Almost Killed Jake's Business
Jake charged $2.50 per taco because “that’s what tacos should cost.” Never mind that Qdoba gets eight bucks for a burrito or that the crappy Mexican chain down the street charged four dollars for frozen garbage.
I made him show me his numbers. Absolutely brutal.
Food costs were 54% of every sale. Fifty-four percent. That’s insane. Should be thirty-something max. Jake was literally paying people to eat his food.
“Raise your prices,” I told him.
“Can’t. Customers will disappear.”
“What customers?”
We tested it gradually. Week one, tacos went from $2.50 to $3.00. Jake was convinced his fifteen daily customers would vanish. Nope. The same people showed up, paid the extra fifty cents, and didn’t even mention it.
Week two, $3.50. Still fine.
Week three was the big test. Added a “loaded” taco for five bucks with guacamole, sour cream, and this incredible chipotle sauce Jake made. About sixty percent of customers upgraded immediately.
The breakthrough moment happened when Pete the construction guy said, “I always wondered why your tacos were so cheap. Made me think something was wrong with them, you know?”
That hit Jake like a truck. He’d been accidentally signaling that his food wasn’t worth much by charging too little.
By January, regular tacos were four bucks, loaded ones six-fifty, and Jake had combo meals for ten to twelve dollars. The average order jumped from under five dollars to over nine. Same customers, nearly double the revenue.
Turns out people judge quality by price way faster than they judge it by taste.
Jake's Restaurant Existed in Places He Never Thought About
For months, Jake thought his restaurant was just the physical building on Mason Street. That was it.
Completely wrong thinking.
His restaurant existed everywhere customers could discover him, order from him, or hear about him. Problem was, he was basically invisible in most of those places.
I googled “fish tacos near me” while sitting at his counter. Jake’s place showed up on page three, below two Taco Bells and a Mexican restaurant that had been closed since COVID started.
His Uber Eats photos looked like crime scene evidence. Instagram hadn’t been updated since his grand opening in May. The Yelp page was empty except for one five-star review from his mom that said “So proud of my baby boy!!!” (Thanks, Mom, real subtle.)
Even worse, Jake had zero relationship with any nearby businesses. Never talked to Anna who ran the coffee shop across the street. Didn’t know the names of people from the big office building two blocks over. Treated his restaurant like an island.
We fixed the obvious stuff first. Updated Google with decent photos and correct hours. Rewrote his delivery app descriptions so they didn’t sound like they were written by someone who’d never eaten food.
But the real change happened when Jake started acting like a neighbor.
He brought Anna free coffee every morning – not asking for anything, just being friendly. Started chatting with smokers from the office building when they’d come outside for breaks. Dropped off sample tacos at the yoga studio next door.
Within a month, foot traffic increased by probably forty percent. Anna started recommending Jake’s place to her coffee customers. Office workers began coming down for lunch instead of ordering from the same three places. Yoga people would grab tacos after evening classes.
Jake’s physical location was exactly the same, but his presence in the neighborhood had exploded.
Promotion: Everything Jake Did Wrong Initially
Jake’s first marketing attempt was embarrassing to watch.
Posted on Facebook: “Best fish tacos in the city! Come try us!” Got eleven likes from his mom, three high school friends, and some random people who probably clicked by accident.
Here’s the thing nobody tells you about restaurant marketing: nobody gives a shit what you think about your own food. They care what other people think.
So Jake completely flipped his approach. He shifted his focus from promoting his tacos to highlighting his customers.
Post that nobody cared about: “Fresh fish delivered daily!”
Post that got shared like crazy: “This guy Marcus comes in every Tuesday at exactly 11:45, orders three fish tacos with extra hot sauce, and eats them while reading the sports page. Today he brought his teenage son who ordered the exact same thing. The kid even asked for the sports section.”
That post got shared forty-something times. People started commenting about their own lunch routines, tagging friends who would “totally do something like this.”
Jake became a storyteller instead of a salesperson. Every regular had a story worth sharing.
There was Jennifer who brought her laptop and worked through slow afternoons, ordering Diet Cokes every twenty minutes. The book club that met Thursday evenings and always debated where to eat next (they kept coming back). This older couple – Frank and Rose – who had “taco dates” every Saturday and always sat at the same corner table.
People started hoping Jake would notice them and share their story. The restaurant became part of the neighborhood conversation instead of just another place to grab lunch.
The best marketing Jake ever did was making his customers feel like celebrities.
What Really Went Down
Jake’s averaging over 200 customers daily now. Revenue went from maybe $400 on good days to $3,600 yesterday. He’s got four employees and is looking at a second location across town.
The fish taco recipe? Exactly the same as opening day. Same fish supplier, same seasonings, same cooking method.
Success had nothing to do with improving his food. Everything to do with improving everything else around his food.
The 4 P’s of marketing for restaurants saved Jake’s ass. Product means the complete experience, not just what’s on the plate. Price means understanding that cheap doesn’t equal value. Place means being visible everywhere customers look. Promotion means letting customers sell for you instead of selling to them.
Jake almost went bankrupt because he thought running a restaurant meant cooking great food. Really, it means giving people reasons to choose you over the fifty other options in a five-mile radius.
Empty restaurants usually aren’t food problems. They’re marketing problems disguised as food problems.
Pick one P. Fix it completely. Then move to the next one. Don’t try to fix everything simultaneously because you’ll just do a shitty job on all of it.
Your customers exist. They’re hungry. They want what you’re selling. You just gotta make it ridiculously easy for them to find you, afford you, enjoy you, and recommend you to their friends.
Everything else is just noise.
