Satisfaction lives in the gap between expectation and experience.

Last night, after a conference keynote, I had dinner. Someone had recommended the restaurant. I hesitated. $350 for dinner is steep, even on a special day. But it was a special day, so I went.

The welcome was warm. The view was stunning. Nine courses promised a memorable evening.

The first dish was nice. The second was nice-ish. The third was mediocre. Courses four and five were boring. By then, something was brewing inside me. Not the food.

Was I really spending a pile of money on an average meal? I could have eaten in a family restaurant. I could have wandered through a local food market. Instead, I had followed a recommendation and gone fancy.

The waitress noticed. “How is everything?” she asked. The useless question no customer can ever answer.

In the friendliest possible way, I admitted that I was disappointed. Everything was fine. For $350, fine wasn’t fine.

Her boss appeared. Then his boss. They apologized, brought me several more equally average dishes, and offered me a discount. Eventually, I made peace with the restaurant. The food wasn’t memorable, but the people were lovely.

The bill arrived. I added a generous tip. None of this was the waitress’s fault. Then my phone lit up: “You have just paid $32.”

$32? I looked again and called the waitress back. Surely, I had underpaid. “No, sir,” she said. “It’s all correct.”

I had miscalculated the exchange rate. Spectacularly. The dinner had never cost $350. It cost $35—before the discount. Suddenly, the view looked better. The dishes became more interesting. The service was exceptional. I had just eaten the best $35 dinner of my life.

I called the manager, confessed, and apologized to the entire team. The next day, I went back for dinner.

We usually think satisfaction comes from delivering more than people expect. And it does. But there is another way: ensuring people expect the right thing.