Tlalli — a modern Mexican restaurant website template

Starter is £19/mo excl. VAT and includes a complete restaurant website, a live structured menu, enquiry and newsletter forms, and managed search readiness. Growth is £39/mo excl. VAT and adds direct live bookings, a custom domain with managed SSL, and table and floor-plan operations. Full is £69/mo excl. VAT and adds online ordering and multi-site management for up to five restaurant sites. TableSpark commission is 0%. Stripe's standard card-processing fees apply to online payments.

Do not read this bit. Touch it.

Tlalli is warm limewash with an orange that belongs to a market awning rather than a chilli emoji. Yours might be white tile and morning light, or brass and candles, or something nobody has built yet.

Skip the description. The panel is lifted straight out of the builder and the frame is the real renderer, so what happens when you press an accent here is exactly what happens in your account. Nothing you do is saved or asked about. Go on.

Open it properly

6 pages, and every one of them is here. None of this is an image. The frame runs the real renderer — the one that publishes live restaurants — so each tab is the actual page and the links go where they say. Press Phone and watch it reflow.

The room it imagines

Modern Mexican cooking has a presentation problem online: the shorthand available to it — sombreros, cactus, terracotta gradients — belongs to a different restaurant entirely. This design refuses all of it. The palette is limewashed wall and one saturated orange, the type is geometric rather than folkloric, and the imagery does the cultural work without a single cliché.

The opening is a painted sign, which is the honest reference: hand-lettered names on plaster, the way a fonda announces itself on a Mexico City street. It carries the restaurant’s name at size, one line about what the kitchen does, and the two things a guest wants — the menu and a table.

The first page, in pieces

Nine blocks build the page, all of them editable modules:

• Hero — Big opening image, name & buttons, in the Painted Sign treatment: Hand-painted italic name between two rules, wide room band beneath.
• Intro statement — Big opening statement line.
• Offer banner — Time-bounded offer that hides itself when it ends.
• Menu preview — A few dishes on a sliding rail.
• Marquee strip — Scrolling awards or words.
• FAQ — Accordion of questions.
• Reviews — Guest quotes with stars.
• Newsletter — Email signup band.
• Call to action — Headline + button band.

The statement block currently reads Corn nixtamalised nightly, salsas ground in stone, fire doing the talking. — one line you will rewrite in about four seconds.

A menu that reads like a card and indexes like a page

This template uses the Accordion layout — sections sit collapsed on one screen and open in place, so a long menu never becomes a long scroll. The menu opens as an accordion: sections collapsed by default, each expanding in place. That suits a kitchen with eight short sections and a long tail of salsas and sides — the guest sees the shape of the whole menu on one screen, then opens only what they care about.

It also solves the explanation problem. Dishes that need a sentence — what nixtamal is, why the mole took a week, which chilli is doing the work — get that sentence in the description field, visible without leaving the page. The spice scale is set per dish rather than per section, because a menu where everything is marked hot is a menu nobody trusts.

Whatever the arrangement, the menu is text and not a picture — every dish, description and price indexable, with Restaurant schema around it.

The ordering page, and who keeps the money

This is the part worth pressing. Tlalli uses the Minimal ordering layout — a clean typographic list with nothing between the guest and the order. Ordering is deliberately stripped back here: a clean typographic list rather than a photo grid, which is right for a kitchen where half the menu is salsas, tortillas and sides that nobody needs a picture of. Adding is a single tap; the running total sits in a bar that stays on screen.

Modifier groups earn their keep on a menu like this — corn or flour, one salsa or three, with or without queso — and they appear as chips on the dish row rather than in a pop-up. A guest ordering six tacos with different fillings never leaves the list.

Each mode collects only what it must: a table number for dine-in, a telephone number for collection, an address for delivery.

The story and visit pages

The story page has room for the part that matters most to a milpa kitchen: named growers, the maize varieties, why a particular valley. There is a timeline, a chef’s interview and a gallery, and the events page carries the private-dining and mezcal-tasting enquiries that a room like this fields weekly.

The typing is already done

Nobody starts a website looking forward to retyping ninety dishes. Point a phone at whatever your menu currently lives on and send it over. The AI turns it into sections, dishes, descriptions and prices, and picks up the dietary marks and heat levels it can see. Read it back, adjust anything the photograph fumbled, and that is the menu built.

A photograph of a menu is decoration; a structured menu is infrastructure. The same structured menu drives the menu page, the ordering page, the highlights on the home page and the Restaurant structured data a search engine reads. Change a price once afterwards and all of them follow.

And the fields nobody enjoys writing — the search title and description — are drafted by a Write with AI button that reads the page first. The AI writes the first version; you decide whether it is the last.

Publish today, take bookings tonight

You are not commissioning a website; you are moving into one. The site works from the first second — it simply has the wrong name on the door. Ten minutes covers it for most kitchens — and the second it is live, the booking form is taking reservations. It lands in the inbox with the party size and the time, and the guest is confirmed by email at once.

Attach your own Stripe account and the site can charge for orders and hold deposits on tables — the funds are yours from the start. We take 0%. Not on the first order, not on the thousandth. Stripe’s standard card-processing fees apply to online payments.

1. Pick TlalliEverything copies across — pages, blocks, menu, the lot.
   1 min
2. Change the name and the wordsEvery block is edited in place. Change the name once.
   4 min
3. Upload your menuA photograph of the menu becomes a structured menu.
   3 min
4. PublishLive. The reservation form starts working immediately.
   1 min
5. Connect StripeNow you can take deposits on tables and payment on orders — direct to your account.
   1 min

Your name over the door

The web address is something guests read aloud, so it should sound like you. You can be live before lunch on a TableSpark address and on your own domain by the weekend, with no rebuild in between.

Everything fiddly about a domain — SSL, renewals, bare-domain redirects, canonical URLs surviving the move — is managed on your behalf. Already own the name? Keep it — you get the exact record to update, in plain English.

The email nobody thinks about, designed properly

The email that follows a booking is read more carefully than any page on the site. As soon as a table is confirmed, the guest gets an email in your name carrying the date, the time, the number of covers, your address, your phone number and a way to cancel cleanly. Reminders, receipts and cancellations follow the same treatment, so nothing looks bolted on.

It carries your restaurant, not our branding. Pick one of six templates, then set the accent, the logo, a cover image, how the header sits, the sign-off line, your links and your social marks. When your domain is connected the mail is sent from your own address, which is also what keeps it out of a promotions tab.

Below is the actual renderer, the one that sends after a confirmed booking. Press any of the styles or colours and it rebuilds in front of you.

Yours, ours, and never locked

• Yours from the first minute: every word and every image, the menu and what it costs, the hours you keep, where you are, and the colours and fonts the site is built from.
• Kept for you: the difficult engineering — long-menu behaviour, the basket on a small screen, how blocks stack when the window narrows, and legibility surviving a palette change.
• Never locked: reorder, remove or add any block on any page, add whole pages, and throw away anything you do not need. This is a starting point, not a cage.

What it takes to actually be found

Being published and being findable are two different things, and only one of them happens automatically. The usual culprits are mundane: a robots rule nobody removed, two canonicals pointing different ways, orphaned pages, the menu published as a PDF, no structured restaurant data, search verification half done. The cost lands on the restaurant — guests searching your name, your menu or your street reach directories and commission-charging marketplaces first, and you end up paying for the traffic you should already own.

All of that is finished before you arrive. Search results are not something anyone can promise you. A correctly configured site is, and that is what this is.

What restaurants ask us