A restaurant signs up in March with genuine enthusiasm. The first task is entering the menu: two hundred items across six sections, each with a name, a price, a section and eventually a description.
It is nobody's job. The chef is cooking, the manager is on the floor, and the person with time is the person who knows the menu least. Two weeks later about forty items are in and the system is being used for nothing, which makes it easy to conclude it did not suit the property.
This is the commonest way a hospitality software rollout fails, and it has nothing to do with the software's capabilities.
Photographing the existing menu and extracting the items, sections and prices turns a week into an afternoon of review. What comes back is a draft — nothing publishes itself, and every generated field lands on the edit form for a human to accept.
The same applies to the writing nobody gets round to. Descriptions drafted from the item's actual recipe describe what the kitchen makes rather than what its name suggests, and a nutrition estimate is arithmetic over ingredient quantities rather than a guess about a dish.
Why this matters to you: the value of a system is entirely in the fraction of it you actually populate. Removing the data-entry cliff at the start is worth more than most of the features behind it.