A 5.0 rating, and no way to be found.
Antep cooks Gaziantep food on The Kingsway in Swansea. Forty-eight Google reviews, not one under five stars, and almost nothing online. The job was to make the food do the advertising — shot on a phone, with nobody on camera and not a word spoken.
Not a kebab shop, and that was the problem.
Antep serves food from Gaziantep, the city Turkey treats as its culinary capital, out of a unit on The Kingsway between the takeaways. The cooking is the real thing. From the pavement it looked like everything either side of it.
They already had the asset you cannot fake: a 5.0 on Google across 48 reviews. What they did not have was any reason for someone outside a two-street radius to know they existed. No posting rhythm, no video, no presence beyond a map pin.
One constraint shaped the entire system. Nobody in the kitchen wanted to be on camera, and English is a second language for the team. So it had to work with no presenter, no script and no spoken word. Food and hands only, with on-screen English text doing the talking.
How a scroll becomes a customer.
Four steps. Every content decision below exists to move someone one step further along this chain.
A cheese pull, or a knife entering the doner stack, in the first frame. No intro, no logo, no build-up.
Saves are the signal the algorithm rewards hardest. A dish worth remembering gets saved for later.
Repetition does this, not persuasion. By the fourth time you have seen the grill, you are deciding where to eat.
Location tag, address in the caption, and a pin they already saved. The last step has to be frictionless.
Five pillars, five or six posts a week.
Each pillar does a different job. Mixed so the feed never feels repetitive, and so no single week depends on one idea landing.
Setup, then thirty days, then money.
Handles matched across TikTok and Instagram. The name field carrying the searchable keyword rather than just the brand. A bio with the tagline, the proof and the address in one line. Business account switched on for analytics and location features. This is an hour of work that otherwise costs months of looking amateur.
Every day of the calendar specified before filming starts: the hook, four shots with lens distance and movement, the on-screen text, audio direction, caption and tags. The kitchen films in two or three batches. Nobody has to invent anything at 6pm on a Tuesday.
Saves and shares say what to make more of — not likes, and not what the owner or I happen to prefer. Anything that flopped comes off the calendar instead of being repeated because it was on the plan.
Never boost a cold idea. A two-week test at roughly $10–$14 a day per platform, radius-targeted to Swansea and twenty miles. Sixty per cent of the budget moves behind whichever single creative is winning by day four. Anything under a 1% click-through after $25 spent gets killed.
What the shape usually looks like.
Early weeks build the base. Reach usually accelerates once a few videos catch, because the account has enough history for the algorithm to know who to show it to. The curve above is a shape, not a projection — there are no numbers on the vertical axis on purpose.
What this cannot promise. Reach on TikTok is decided by a ranking system nobody outside the company can see, and it changes without notice. I can commit to the posting rhythm, the quality of the cuts, the targeting and the reporting. I cannot commit to a follower count or a view number, and I will not quote you one — anybody who does is guessing with your money. The number worth judging this on is walk-ins who mention they saw the food online, and that only starts showing up after a few weeks of consistency.