Today's burger of the day,
on your truck's side screen

The menu changes daily, and a chalkboard cannot keep up. You cook what you have that day, and a hand-written A-board is slow, hard to read and rubs off. On screen you change the menu and prices in seconds, it reads from the back of the queue and it speeds up ordering at the festival rush. Less standing in the queue is more portions served.

Telling people where you are earns loyalty. A food truck moves, and its regulars follow it on Instagram. Showing where you are today, the opening time and which event you are at next week turns the person who discovered you into a follower who seeks you out. The location on screen, plus the Instagram feed, builds the community that fills the truck at the next market.

A festival with no signal cannot take your menu down. At a packed festival the reception comes and goes, and that is exactly when you serve the most portions. The player caches the content locally for up to 48 hours, so the screen keeps showing the menu and prices even with no connection. The menu does not fall over at the worst moment, which is the best moment to sell.

To be straight with you: we do not manage orders or payments. The screen shows the menu, the allergens and your location; the order and the till stay as you run them. For the outdoor screen you want one bright enough to be seen in full sun. Digisini is the truck's screen layer, not an ordering system.

The reviews stay online; on the street you start from nothing. The person walking past was not looking for you: they see a truck and decide in ten seconds whether that is real food or a risk. They do not have your name, your stars, or anyone who recommended you. What settles that moment is not the menu: it is whether you look like a business or like a stall. The licence, the allergens, where the meat comes from and who you are do more there than any burger photo.

Selling out with twelve people standing in the queue is the worst thing that can happen. In a restaurant the one waiting is sitting down and orders something else. Here they have stood for fifteen minutes for one specific thing, and reach the window to find it ran out four minutes ago. That person leaves angry and does not come back, because they cannot: tomorrow you are not there. Striking the dish off the screen the moment it goes takes three seconds and saves the whole queue.

And at a festival with twelve trucks, it is decided at twenty metres. Nobody walks all twelve reading menus. You look from a distance, pick by whatever stands out at that range, and go straight there. One big screen with one thing — what you do well, with its price — beats a fifteen-line menu that cannot be read until you are in front of it, and by then you have already lost the one who went to the queue next door.

Straight with you: the screen does not get you the pitch or bring the crowd, that is the event's job. What it does is make sure that once you are there, you are not the truck nobody trusts.