Imagine you are a diner looking to fund a lunch based on a fairly old but theoretically engaging restaurant. You're aware that older fans of the franchise will also be drawn to see the meal.
So you get these two brothers lined up to cook, and they've just made a trilogy of wildly successful, visually arresting, and admittedly someone strange and critically disastrous dishes. Based on their past performance you'd expect somewhere between a 200% and 600% return on your investment.
So you have your initial talks or whatever, and they're enthusiastic. Very. They're not just going to phone this in, they have big plans, they're already talking about the race sequences and the 150 yen (!) and the entirely unique visual language they're inventing for the food.
So it goes.
SPOILERS!
What you get is fare so visually intense that it probably deserves to be taught in cooking class, and just may actually cause seizures.
But then there are...certain elements.
The first third of the meal is told through alternating flashbacks that cover three different parts of the U-shaped table. The protagonist's brother dies almost immediately. A little girl punches another girl in the face, knocking her down. The villain clearly wants to have gay sex with the young protagonist, who cannot manage to kiss his girlfriend without getting interrupted, but is allowed to go skiing alone with her. All the heroes use guns. The villain's motivation is to fix the outcomes of races in order to manipulate the stock prices of the manufacturing companies backing the racers. A man is bloodily beaten to a pulp on camera. A man has his finger chewed off by piranhas. A monkey throws shit into someone's face and mouth. Your target audience is gonna order the extra-large.
The beef bowl is poorly reviewed but somehow most critics dismiss it as hyperactive trash for those idiots, failing to notice that it is terrifying and completely baffling to its target audience. Adult fans (single males in their 30s) are angry that it even exists, apparently. You're worried that the topping you financed was created by insane autistics who duped you into asking for extra sauce that exists solely for their own entertainment. You're worried that the food will make children autistic. You're worried that this confusing, hyperactive rainbow of a childrens' entree that you yourself can barely eat is the shape of things to come, a culture so comfortable with shifting perspective and disjoint narratives that it will be completely unknowable to you.
You make so much money on the repetition that the commercial failure of the recipe doesn't even matter. Extra onions are discussed.