The Potted Pig

The Potted Pig sits in an 1855 bank vault under Cardiff. Strong reviews, a confident Instagram, a suckling pig people talk about afterwards, and a room nowhere else in the city has.

Its website was ranking second in Cardiff for its category on a page written fifteen years earlier, with a title tag containing neither the word restaurant nor the word Cardiff. The demand was arriving anyway.

The booking button did not work.

This was never a visibility problem. It was a presentation and conversion problem wearing a visibility problem’s clothes. The site was informational, and the room is theatrical.

Rebuilt around how guests actually arrive rather than around conventional navigation: dining, celebrating, and meeting. Private dining given its own identity and its own enquiry route rather than waiting to be found. The booking system embedded cleanly at the points in each journey where someone is ready.

The subscription was set up in Duncan’s name and the site handed back editable, with a walkthrough.

A restaurant that cannot change its own opening hours without asking permission does not own its website, whatever the invoice says.