A menu in several languages — how many and which

Bulgarian and English. That is the answer for ninety per cent of venues, and beyond it the question is which guests come through your door.

The rest of this piece is for the other ten per cent, and for how not to embarrass yourself with the translation.

Which language and why

English — compulsory, and not because of the English. English is the language every foreigner tries first, wherever they are from.

Russian — makes sense on the coast and in the mountain resorts, almost none in Sofia.

German — Golden Sands, Albena, the northern coast. In the mountains and in a big city, probably not.

Polish — the largest charter market on the coast right now. In a seaside resort it comes before German.

Romanian — the Danube towns and the whole coast. In Vidin, Ruse or Silistra, Romanian is worth more than English: put it straight after the Bulgarian menu.

Greek — the southern coast and the south-west.

The rule is simple: open a language when you have seen a guest who speaks it, not before. An unmaintained language is worse than a missing one — it promises something and then shows prices from two seasons ago.

What gets translated and what does not

This is where most of the mistakes happen.

Do not translate dish names that are proper names. Shopska salad is Shopska salad, not Shepherd salad. Banitsa is banitsa. Tarator is tarator. If the name is part of the identity it stays — and gets explained in the description.

Translate the description. “Shopska salad” stays, and underneath it says in English what is in it: tomatoes, cucumber, pepper, white cheese. That is what a foreigner actually wants to know.

Watch the measures. In Bulgaria 0,500 means half a litre. To a British guest “500” with no unit means nothing, and “0.5” confuses them further. Write 500 ml, 250 g, 1 pc — with the unit.

Allergens are compulsory in every language. Not because it looks tidy, but because a person who cannot read Bulgarian is exactly the one who needs to understand them.

Machine translation — where it holds and where it does not

Automatic translation is good for descriptions and useless for names.

It works: “Fried potatoes with garlic and dill” comes out right.

It does not: names of local dishes, wordplay, and anything you invented yourself. A dish called after the chef comes out as something no foreigner will order.

The practical answer is machine translation as a draft that a person then goes over. In Ceres a new language arrives translated and stays editable for exactly this reason — the machine does the ninety per cent, you fix the ten that show.

In short

English straight away, with care over dish names and measures. A third language when you hear it at a table, not before.