Dubai pancakes, font sandwiches, meatless identity crisis

Food is now content, branding is absurd, and nothing tastes like it should.

This week we explore the strange new world where food isn’t just sustenance. It’s content, identity, and cultural currency, all rolled into one Instagram-worthy package. From viral chocolate bars that inspire $130 pancake stunts to typography books disguised as burger menus to plant-based companies having public identity crises, we’re living in an era where everything edible doubles as entertainment.

It’s all part of the same cultural moment where the line between nourishment and performance has completely dissolved, and somehow, we keep lining up for the show.

1. The gold rush era of Dubai chocolate.

Let’s talk about the exact moment a food trend dies. In the case of Dubai chocolate, it’s when IHOP unveiled "$130 Dubai chocolate pancakes" that don’t actually cost $130, don’t contain real Dubai chocolate, and somehow still manage to generate headlines. Twenty-five lucky people got the "luxe" version with real Fix Dessert Chocolatier bars and edible gold; everyone else got hazelnut spread cosplaying as Middle Eastern sophistication. It perfectly captures how viral food moments collapse when corporations are a little too eager to co-opt culture.

Dubai chocolate started as something genuinely special: Fix’s pistachio-tahini-knafeh bars racked up $22 million in sales at Dubai Duty-Free, thanks to an irresistible combo of scarcity, satisfying ASMR crunch, and the vague allure of “Dubai” as shorthand for luxury. But once the trend took off, it wasn’t long before Crumbl Cookies launched a Dubai-inspired flavor, knockoff bars showed up at gas stations, and the name itself became a generic label slapped on anything vaguely pistachio-colored. It’s the same cycle every time: an authentic moment becomes cultural currency, then a mass-market approximation, then the thing your mom asks you to explain. And just like that, something sweet and strange gets flattened into a buzzword, served lukewarm, with a side of influencer discount codes.

2. Typography with a side of fries.

Someone at Contrast Foundry looked at their collection of 22 wildly different typefaces and thought, “You know what this needs? Hamburger metaphors.” So they teamed up with The Office of Ordinary Things to create Hamburgerfonts. A mix-and-match specimen book that categorizes fonts like burger ingredients: display fonts are the protein, body text is the veggies, and supportive typefaces are the condiments. It’s formatted like one of those flip books where you mix and match cartoon faces, except now you're building typographic sandwiches instead of silly monsters.

By borrowing the visual language of children's books they’ve made typography accessible to literally anyone. Kids love flipping through it, designers appreciate the nerdy details, and everyone else can finally understand why Helvetica and Comic Sans don’t belong on the same page. It’s the kind of project that only happens when type foundries stop taking themselves so seriously and remember that good design should be as fun as it is functional. Turns out, the fastest way to explain kerning is with ketchup.

3. Beyond Meat goes beyond "meat".

Beyond Meat just announced they’re dropping “Meat” from their name to become simply Beyond, which feels like watching a company have an identity crisis in real-time. The move comes alongside their new product, Beyond Ground: a four-ingredient protein made from fava beans that contains more protein than actual ground beef but refuses to pretend it’s trying to be beef. CEO Ethan Brown says they’re shifting from meat alternatives to simply being “the best in the world at making plant proteins,” which is either brilliant repositioning or the corporate equivalent of “it’s not you, it’s me.”

The pivot makes sense when you realize Beyond’s original promise (seamless meat substitution) failed the most important test: taste. Meanwhile, their “healthier” positioning crumbled when consumers realized these patties were just ultra-processed food in disguise, the exact opposite of what health-conscious eaters were looking for. Now, they’re reading the cultural tea leaves correctly: America’s protein obsession is real, and the clean eating movement has people craving short ingredient lists over science-lab complexity. The question isn’t whether the new strategy is smart (it absolutely is) but whether anyone’s ready to forget what came before. Dropping four letters is easy. Dropping the baggage? That’s the real meat of the challenge.

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