Over the years, I’ve noticed something about restaurant menus: Their font sizes are like food portions. What works for some doesn’t work for others. Some people can read a size-11 menu with no problem. Others need an 18-point font to get through dinner, just like some customers feel full after an appetizer while others need the entrée too.
When I spoke with a restaurant manager recently about the importance of large-print menus, they told me, “Well, the font is already pretty big. I don’t think we need to make it any bigger.” And that response perfectly captures my point: One size does not fit all.
For years, people — visually impaired or not — have had to squint through menus designed with trendy, tiny fonts that look great on Instagram but not in real life. And when businesses do offer large-print menus, they often look like afterthoughts: plain, flimsy and clearly rushed. It makes accessibility feel like a last-minute obligation rather than a normal part of customer service.
The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) talks a lot about “reasonable accommodation,” but what’s reasonable on paper doesn’t always work in practice.
Imagine you’re at The Cheesecake Factory, a restaurant that’s famously loud and dim, trying to enjoy precious family time. You can’t read the menu. So you ask your server to read all 21 pages aloud because technically, they’re required to under the ADA. Now everyone at the table is stuck listening to you ask, “What’s in the chicken salad?” for the fifth time while the breadbasket sits empty. And all of this could have been avoided with a simple large-print menu.
I’m not writing this to call out The Cheesecake Factory. I’m writing this because what works for some really does not work for others.
Seven months ago, I spoke at a crowded city commission meeting about the importance of large print menus, hoping to spark a wider policy change. I created a petition, “Make Large Print Menus Mandatory in South Florida” after dozens of calls, redirections and polite rejections from secretaries, representatives and lawmakers. When the petition passed 50 signatures, I realized I needed to push for real-world action, not just symbolic support.
So I went straight to local businesses. And they delivered.
The first large-print menu went up at Buddie’s Bakery in Cooper City, who very proudly featured me and my initiative multiple times on their social media. The second was at Steve’s Pizza, whose staff told me, “It’s the least I can do!” The third was at Angelo’s Pizza, where the manager thanked me for bringing the idea to their attention. These businesses didn’t treat accessibility as a political statement or a burden. To them, it was simply good customer service.
Of course, I’ve faced rejections too. Some businesses said, “We’re not interested.” Others didn’t understand the point at all. But whether or not everyone gets it yet, I’m seeing real change. And it’s happening because business owners care about their communities and their customers.
Circling back to the manager I spoke to: This isn’t really about font size, aesthetics or even the food printed on the menu. It’s about the people trying to read it. If customers can’t read your menu, they’re less likely to return. No one wants to pull out their phone, zoom in, or snap photos of every page just to order dinner when they could simply have a larger print version in front of them.
Accessibility isn’t just about community — it’s smart business. And I hope to do business with any restaurant owner reading this who’s willing to make a change.
Noy Levi is a part-time journalist and artist based in Cooper City.
