Every Friday night, my family gathers around the table. It’s nothing elaborate, but it is sacred. Sometimes it’s wings, sticky on our fingers. Other times, it’s pizza boxes stacked high. And often, it’s ribs sizzling on a plate. It’s the sound of my daughter laughing over a milkshake, the way my sister leans back after the first bite, and the unspoken understanding that this ritual grounds us. Food, in these moments, is more than just fuel; it’s the glue that holds us together.
Zina Zwakala, a community manager with SEM, highlights how community managers can connect local stories, relief efforts, and practical support to global brand narratives (Image supplied)
But today on World Food Day, 16 October, I am reminded of how fragile this ritual is for many South Africans.
With rising prices and shrinking budgets, the comfort of a shared meal, the joy of a small treat, or the chance to sit down as a family are slipping out of reach.
As the community voice behind RocoMamas, Panarottis, and Spur, I encounter this reality daily.
I read the comments, hear the frustrations, and feel the weight of a question that lingers: “How do we sustain trust when the very act of feeding our families feels uncertain?”
Love letters to what has been lost
It’s easy to view “pricing complaints” as numbers in a report. But behind every comment is a person.
One RocoMamas regular shared:
“I used to grab burgers for my kids after soccer practice. Now, R150 for one burger? That’s two days of lunch money gone.”
Another Spur loyalist said:
“Your steak night was always my dad’s birthday tradition. This year, we stayed home. We just couldn’t make it work.”
And a Panarottis fan added:
“Please bring back All You Can Eat. It was the one night we could spoil ourselves without worrying about the bill.”
These aren’t just complaints; they are love letters to what has been lost.
They express grief over the absence of small, joyful moments that make life feel normal.
Our role is not to defend prices or dismiss pain, but to listen with care just as we would at our own Friday table.
Responding openly
That’s why, when customers raised concerns about rib prices differing online and in-store, we respond openly.
When customers noticed that menu prices differed between dining in and ordering for delivery, we chose not to ignore it.
Delivery services often add extra costs that are outside of a restaurant’s control, which can affect the final price.
Instead of brushing this off, we explained the situation openly and shared a value alternative.
The response wasn’t frustration, it was appreciation. Because transparency isn’t a weakness; it’s a form of respect.
In times of pressure, people crave honesty. I’ve seen this play out beyond customer comments, too.
Authenticity that is inspiring
On MasterChef South Africa, when contestants face ingredients they’ve never used before, they don’t pretend to know it all; they laugh, stumble, and share their struggle.
That authenticity makes their final dish even more inspiring. In the same way, the brands lean into real stories.
At Spur, we celebrate families like the grandmother who brings her grandchildren every Saturday to the same booth.
At Panarottis, we highlight parents who find relief in a simple birthday meal for their children.
At RocoMamas, every milkshake selfie or handcrafted burger photo reminds us that joy still exists, even in tough times.
Trust is nourishment
Trust is often built through the smallest of acts.
Food may be a basic human right, but trust must always be earned.
Each time we explain a price change with honesty, share a customer’s story, or choose empathy over profit, we are doing more than managing brands; we are sustaining communities.
This World Food Day, I think of my own family table, the sticky fingers, the shared laughter, the anchor that keeps us grounded.
And I make this promise: no family should ever be forced to choose between filling their stomachs and feeding their spirit.
Because when food feels uncertain, trust becomes the nourishment we all depend on.
