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The card is not a points scheme with a platform attached. It is the record of a meal that really happened, and the points are the reason anybody bothers to make that record.

Three rules make it worth trusting.

Points are only ever created by a real, final, paid amount, at a venue, at a time. Being nearby, tapping something or holding a booking never creates one.

One bill is one credit, no matter how many times the message arrives.

Nothing in the record is ever edited. A mistake is corrected by a second entry that cancels the first, so the history stays true.

Your card carries your name, a QR code, your member number and its validity. Showing it says who you are. It authorizes nothing, so a stranger holding it cannot spend anything.

A meal reaches your card three ways: the venue scans your card at the till, you collect a takeaway you ordered on CyprusBites, or you close a tab at a table where your name was on the order. There is also the printed card on the counter, which is its own topic.

Your meals are listed on the same page, with the venue, the date, and what each one earned. Each one came from a bill you actually paid.

The paper card on every counter in Cyprus has outlived every app that tried to replace it, and the reason is simple: there is nothing to type, nothing to check and nothing to argue about. This is that card, without the bit of cardboard.

So there is no amount in it anywhere. You are never asked what you paid, which removes the one place in the flow where somebody could be dishonest rather than policing it.

The dots come before the button on purpose. You see how close you are at the moment you are deciding to press.

Some venues run visits rather than purchases, which is the same mechanic with a different promise: come six times, have a dessert.

When a card is full, the page says one is waiting for you. You press the button and take it yourself, and your card starts again. You press it, not the counter, because the work on this card always sits with the phone.

The venue sees every stamp on their own screen and can say it was not them. Your balance carries on from card to card, so a long run of coffees is never reset by taking a free one.

A points card suits a place where the bill is different every time. The default is one euro, one point, and the venue may set its own rate, a minimum spend and a cap for a single visit.

It never rounds up. A venue should never owe more than it said it would.

When you record the meal yourself from the counter card, what you send is not a meal: it is a request to record one. The venue sees it on their screen and can say it was not them. If nobody objects, it goes on your card the next day, so a venue that never opens the screen still honours it.

You can record once a day per venue at a restaurant. That is the venue's own setting, so a place that serves you twice in a day may allow a shorter wait, and the message tells you how long rather than just refusing.

Anything over a thousand euro is refused and you are asked to have the venue scan your card instead, which is the honest way to handle a bill that size.

The number belongs to you and not to the card, because a card can be replaced and you have not changed.

It identifies and authorises nothing. Giving it to a venue says who you are. It spends nothing and opens nothing.

It is the answer wherever a discount attaches to a person rather than to a bill. The student rate on a takeaway order is the first of those.

Because the last digit is arithmetic rather than a choice, a mistyped number cannot be mistaken for somebody else's. It is simply refused.

A check-in needs you to actually be there, which is why it asks your phone where it is. A check-in from the sofa does not work, and that is the point.

A booking the venue scanned at the door earns Bites too, without you doing anything, because an arrival the venue confirmed is stronger proof than a phone.

Bites are loyalty points. They have no cash value, cannot be bought, sold or transferred, and they never affect how places rank on CyprusBites.

The rewards you spend them on are funded by venues, not by us.

Every reward is offered and paid for by the venue. We do not fund them and we do not take a cut of them.

A redemption produces a six-digit code with a short life. That is deliberate: a code that lasted all week would be a voucher, and a voucher gets screenshotted and shared.

If you redeem by mistake you can cancel it while the code is still live and your Bites come back.

Spending Bites never changes where a venue appears in results, for you or for anybody else.

Legend is a rolling status, not a trophy. It recognises somebody who is out eating regularly right now.

It is worth something to the venues you actually support, which is why it is earned at their tables rather than bought.

It fades if you stop, and it comes back when you start again. Nothing is taken away from you when it does.

The streak counts weeks, not meals. One check-in in a week is enough, and five in a week is no better for the streak than one.

The bonus lands on the first check-in of a new week, once the streak has reached two weeks. Before that there is nothing to continue.

A week with nothing in it ends the run and the count starts again from one. You lose the bonus, never the Bites you already earned.

The link carries your own code. Somebody joining on it is remembered as having come from you, and nothing happens yet.

The reward is paid once, when that person checks in for the first time. That is on purpose: a sign-up is free to manufacture and a visit is not.

Both of you get the same amount, and it lands in your Bites balance like any other earning.

A pass is the venue asking you back, with something real attached. The value is scaled to the visit that earned it and capped by the venue.

It is worth more in that venue's quiet window, and the boost is worked out when you redeem rather than when it is issued, so a deeper discount only ever fills an empty table.

Once you have proven a return, the venue's next pass to you tends to become a perk rather than more money off. That is the venue keeping its own margin while still thanking you.

Every pass is single use and expires. Redeeming one needs the venue to scan it on a real visit, so it cannot be farmed.

Verification is a code to your university mailbox, and nothing else. We do not ask for a student card, a photograph or a date of birth.

Two promises hold, and both are enforced in one place rather than at each page that draws a badge. At least fifteen percent, and on takeaway.

That second one matters. A venue that has stopped taking takeaway stops showing a student price the same minute, because a student who reads fifteen percent off and is refused at a table has been misled by us, not by the venue.

Your card code starts with S and is shown on your Student Club page. A venue can also honour the rate against your member number, which is the one to use on an order placed ahead.

A booking on CyprusBites is a request, then an answer. You ask, the venue says yes, proposes a different time, or says no, and you are told either way.

Your mobile number has to be confirmed before a request can go, because a venue needs a number that actually reaches you. If yours is not confirmed yet you are taken to that one screen and then straight back, with your request intact.

An answer comes back as a booking with its own code and its own page. That page is the thing to open on the night: it carries the time, the code, the way there and the way to call it off.

If the venue says no, you are not left with nothing. The decline carries a link to other places near you for the same evening.

You order, the venue accepts and tells you how long their kitchen needs, and you walk in and collect. No delivery, no card details, no commission on the food.

Your order carries a code beginning with P and a QR, so the counter can hand it over to the right person. Where it is offered you can put the pass in Apple Wallet so it is on the lock screen when you arrive.

While an order is still waiting to be accepted you can change it, and the change replaces it in one step rather than leaving two orders in the kitchen.

If a dish came off the menu between you opening it and pressing send, you are told out loud rather than quietly handed a shorter order.

Afterwards you can rate the collection. That rating is about the handover, not about the food, and it is what keeps the prep times on this site honest.

Whoever holds the letter holds the key. That is the right level of trust for a booking: the venue already knows your name and you already know theirs.

The page deliberately shows very little about you. No surname, no email, no telephone number, no message thread. A code in a web address is a weak secret carried in an inbox, so the page carries only what the letter already carried.

What it does carry is everything you need on the night. The code and its QR, drawn on the page itself so they work without a signal. The venue's number. Directions. A calendar file. And Cancel.

If the booking was declined, the same page offers you other places nearby for the same evening.

Two venues on the same day rang to say their guests had not turned up. A letter written the morning after does nothing for either of them. So we ask while there is still time to resell the table.

We never write before nine in the morning or after ten at night, because twelve hours before a one o'clock lunch is one in the morning and a text at one in the morning is not a service.

Going quiet is not held against you. Ignoring the message and then turning up has wronged nobody: you went quiet on us, not on the venue. No Bites are taken and nothing is recorded against your score.

Holding a table and wasting it is a different thing, and that is what the Show-Up Score counts.

A venue can be full, closed, or simply unable to take your party on that night. Rather than leave you there, the decline carries alternatives.

They are worked out for your request: your date, your time, your number of people, near the venue that said no. The same engine that ranks everything else on the site ranks these, so nothing in the list is sponsored.

The venue may also propose a different time instead of declining outright, in which case you get a time to accept or refuse rather than a no.

When a venue confirms your table it stops selling that table. That is the whole reason a small restaurant can afford to work with us without paying a commission, and it only holds while the bookings are real.

Cancelling is free, always. One tap on your booking page, up to the moment of the sitting, with no fee and no explanation asked for.

If nobody arrives and nothing was said, the venue tells us and Bites come off your balance. You get an email saying which booking it was and what it cost, and a person reads your reply to it. If your balance is lower than the amount, we take what is there and stop. There is never a debt.

After three missed tables in six months, booking is paused on the account. Everything else carries on exactly as before: your Bites, your passes, your takeaway orders, your saved places. Those were earned by turning up and we are not taking them back. It lifts by itself six months after the last one, with no appeal to write.

Four things we never do. We never charge you money. We never mark you absent from a booking a venue did not confirm, because if no table was held then nothing was missed. We never do it automatically, a person records it after the venue has said so. And we never tell other venues about it.

If we have got it wrong, and sometimes we will have, reply to the email. We would rather fix it than be right.

The score exists because a venue taking a booking from a stranger is taking a risk, and the only fair way to reduce it is to let people who do turn up carry proof of it.

It is portable. You earn it across the island and it travels to every venue, including one you have never been to.

Pressing I am here on your own booking does not move it, deliberately. A guest must never be able to mark themselves as having honoured a table. What moves it is the venue scanning you in.

You can see where you stand on My plate at any time.

The card on the table is a menu first. Even at a venue that does not take orders this way, scanning it gives you the full menu with prices, in English, Greek, German or Russian.

Where the venue does take orders, you also get the tab. You send a round, the floor accepts it, the kitchen gets a ticket. Two more buttons call a waiter and ask for the bill, and both reach the staff's phones rather than a screen nobody is watching.

You are asked for your first name once, right after the scan. That is so a kitchen ticket can say whose souvla it is. If you are signed in, your first name is used and you are not asked at all.

No account is needed for any of it. Afterwards you can have the receipt mailed to you, and if the venue offers a little treat with the bill, you choose it there.

The tab knows who sent each round, which is the only honest basis for a split. Asking for just yours shows your own lines and your own total.

It is not a payment. You pay the venue the way you always would. This decides the number, not the money.

The whole table's bill is still there when you want it, so one person settling for everybody works exactly as before.

A group order is called a parea, which is the Cypriot word for the company you keep. Two shapes of it exist: a one-off table of people ordering together, and a standing crew that keeps coming back, like an office floor or a family.

One person is the runner. They place the consolidated order on the normal takeaway rails and collect it, and they pay the venue in store, so there is no payment processor anywhere in it.

Bites earned by the order are split across the crew rather than multiplied, and the group keeps a running tally of what it has kept out of the middleman's hands.

A one-off table disappears from everybody's list once the order is placed, so you never scroll through a graveyard of last week's lunches.

There are three rooms: children's parties and play centres, halls for private and corporate events, and catering companies. Picking the room first is what makes the island appear.

Browsing and filling in the form are open to everybody. Only sending it asks you to sign in, because a quote has to come back to somebody.

A quote stays sealed. No venue sees another venue's number. That is enforced in the code and checked when a release is built, which is the only reason it is worth saying out loud.

Once you accept, the agreement has its own page and its own code: what was agreed, for how many, for how much, printable on one sheet. If a deposit is involved you record that you sent it, so both sides are reading the same record.

You can also invite your guests from there, collect their answers and allergies, and send the venue a final head count. The venue never sees your guest list, only the number, and the allergy card reaches both sides because that is safety rather than admin.

A room price that excludes the things everybody pays is not a price. So a stay offer on CyprusBites is the all-in number for your dates.

You pick the places, give the dates and the party, and each one answers without seeing the others. The same sealed-quote rule as a party.

Every offer has its own page and its own code, and prints onto one sheet. You can message the place through it, cancel, and record what you decided in the end.

Registering a stay is not required of you anywhere in this. The catalogue shows a place's permit where it has one, which is the venue's obligation and not yours.

This is the core argument behind our product: Delivery apps take a percentage of every order, which forces venues to increase their prices. As a customer, you end up paying those higher prices whether you order through an app or walk in.

CyprusBites is different; we are all about takeaway, not delivery. You place your order in advance, walk into the venue, and pay them directly. There’s no middleman taking a cut from your food.

Venues do pay us for certain services, such as their own website, customer passes to encourage repeat visits, and tools to help fill quiet nights. However, they cannot pay for a higher position in the search results on our site or app, and our code prevents any changes that would allow this.

One exception benefits you: a venue that offers members a lower takeaway price will move up slightly in results. This is because we pass the savings on to you rather than keeping them.

For more details, you can refer to "How It Works" and our manifesto, which explain everything fully. Additionally, our Trust page lists the six promises we uphold, along with the checks that ensure adherence to those promises.

The search understands that a Cyprus venue name arrives in Greek, in Latin, and in several honest attempts at Latin. It folds the usual ambiguities together, so z and s, c and k, ph and f, and doubled letters all collapse to the same thing, and a near miss still lands.

It searches everything at once and groups what it finds: places of every kind, locations, and our own guides and articles.

It is instant and it is explainable. There is no AI in it, which is why it answers while you are still typing.

A rating tells you what a place is like for everybody. A match score tells you what it is like for you, now.

Half of it is you: the cuisines, moods and price levels your taste profile has learned. The other half is the moment: distance, whether it is open, the weather, how busy it is and what you said you were in the mood for.

No venue can pay to raise it. That is checked by a test that runs every time a release of CyprusBites is built, and the release does not ship if it fails.

The Concierge is a conversation rather than a filter. You say what sort of evening it is and it answers with places, each with its match and the reason it was chosen.

Every venue it names is picked by the same engine that powers your match scores, so nothing in the answer is sponsored and nothing was paid for.

It is not always open. The Concierge is switched on and off centrally, and when it is off every link to it is simply absent rather than broken.

A gem is worked out, not chosen. It is a place whose quality signals are strong and whose crowd signals are weak, which usually means locals know and visitors do not.

Nobody can buy the marker. A venue cannot apply for it and cannot pay for it, and it comes and goes as a place gets found.

That is also the honest warning: a gem that gets busy stops being one, so the list is worth rereading before a trip rather than remembering from last year.

CyprusBites started with restaurants and is becoming the whole island. Every kind of place has its own catalogue, its own filters and its own page shape, because what you want to know about a beach is not what you want to know about a winery.

A venue behaves according to its kind too. A bakery will offer you a stamp card where a taverna offers points, and a beach bar will never offer you a tasting menu.

Explore is the overview. It shows you what exists and how much of it, and sends you to the right catalogue.

The map is for the question where rather than what. It covers every kind of place, not just restaurants.

The shortlist is the map's output. It holds up to eight places, shows them side by side, and lives entirely in its own web address, so nothing is stored and anybody you send it to can open it.

From a shortlist you can also start a Gather, which turns the same list into a group decision.

Compare takes whatever a person actually types: a full name, the start of one, or a name in the other alphabet. It resolves each side to a real venue and then lays them out.

It compares what a place is, not who pays us. There is no paid column and no sponsored winner.

If a name is ambiguous it picks the better known venue of that name. Correcting it is a retype, so give it another word.

A menu on CyprusBites is a page of its own, with real prices, kept in four languages. Some are typed in by us, and some have been taken over by the venue itself, which is better: once an owner edits their own menu it becomes theirs and no later import can take it back.

Not every venue has one. Where there is no menu the Menu link is simply not there, rather than taking you to an empty page.

Where a venue offers a member price, you see it printed beside the normal price, never instead of it, so you always know what the real number is.

Every badge corresponds to something the venue has turned on in their own portal. Nobody can add one on their behalf and nobody can buy one.

Accepts table requests means you can ask for a table and get an answer. Order-ahead takeaway means you can order and collect. Rewards Bites means checking in there earns you points toward rewards. Takes the CyprusBites Card means a meal there goes on your card. Order at the table means you can order from your phone while sitting down. Hosts parties means it answers party quotes. Student price means a rate agreed for verified students.

The gem marker is the one badge the venue has no say in, because it is worked out rather than offered.

Four things hold, and they are not politeness, they are how the thing is built.

No venue can pay for a place. Venues pay us for tools, never for position. When friends decide together with Gather, the pick is made on group fit and the part that chooses cannot read whether a venue pays us at all.

Every review shows whether we saw the visit. A table that ordered and paid, a takeaway the venue handed over, or a booking the venue scanned reads Was there. A party the venue confirmed reads Verified party. A visit recorded only from a phone reads Checked in. No record at all gets no mark.

Nobody is paid to review. No Bites, no prizes, no discounts, ever.

A quote stays sealed. Ask several venues for a party or a stay price and each one answers without seeing the others.

Surprise me is not a lottery over every venue on the island. It asks the recommendation engine for the strongest matches for this moment and then picks one of them at random.

The page you land on still shows the match and the reasons, so you can see that it was chosen rather than drawn out of a hat.

Press it again as often as you like. Nothing is recorded and nothing is committed.

Every search that finds nothing is a small piece of information about the island. This page is that information, added up and shown in public.

It is useful twice. For you, because you can ask to be told the day somebody finally opens the thing you wanted. For a venue, because it is a map of unmet demand in their own town.

An alert needs a double confirmation. We mail you a link and nothing is sent until you click it, so nobody can sign you up to anything.

A Golden Hour is a venue admitting a night is quiet. It is checked against their real bookings rather than taken on trust, so there is no manufactured scarcity and no standing sale that trains you to wait.

Only a venue you favourited or actually visited may reach you this way. A venue cannot buy its way into your alerts.

The window is short on purpose. A discount that runs all month is a price, not an invitation.

Everything on this page is live now. An offer with an end time disappears when it reaches it.

No offer buys a place in the list, here or anywhere else on CyprusBites. The order is the same honest ranking the rest of the site uses.

An offer belongs to the venue. We publish it, we do not fund it, and we take no part of it.

A slot is only ever offered when the day is genuinely quiet by that venue's real booked covers, and the prediction is recorded so the claim can be proved.

The venue approves each one. Nothing is offered on their behalf.

Choosing a quiet slot does not change how a booking works. It is still a request the venue answers, and it can still be declined. What the slot adds is the treat when you turn up.

If you need to correct the booking afterwards, the slot travels with the correction, so the treat survives the edit.

A delivery app's commission applies to the whole order. So does this, which is the entire point of it. A venue that excluded drinks would be stingier than the app it is competing with.

It is one percentage per venue rather than a price per dish, so nothing can drift out of date and adding a dish next month needs no thought.

Rounding is up, to the next half euro, and only on the total. Up, because rounding down would give away margin the venue never agreed to.

You will see it as Members save on venue cards and beside each line on the takeaway menu. The real price is always shown too, so you always know what the number actually is.

This is also the one thing that can move a venue up in results. Nobody can pay for a place on CyprusBites, but a venue that hands members a lower takeaway price moves up a little, because that saving goes to you.

The planner builds around the day rather than the list. It respects opening hours, travel between stops, and the fact that nobody wants three heavy meals in a row.

Every stop is a real venue with its own page, and you can swap any of them for another option without rebuilding the plan.

A plan has its own address, so you can send it to the people you are travelling with, and a printable version for the ones who would rather hold paper.

Saved plans sit on My plate.

It does not count votes and pick the majority. For every option it works out how happy each person would be, throws out anything that breaks somebody's hard dealbreaker, and then chooses the option that treats the unhappiest person best.

It shows its reasoning, and it will honestly tell you there is no consensus rather than inventing one.

The pick cannot be bought. The part that chooses is unable to read whether a venue pays us, and so is the shortlist it chooses from. That is checked every time a release of CyprusBites is built, and the build fails if it ever changes.

You can start a Gather from a shortlist you gathered on the map, and once the group has decided you can turn the decision straight into a table request.

An average midpoint sacrifices one person to the group. This does the opposite: it looks at every candidate venue and picks the one where the person travelling furthest travels least.

You add starting points as towns, up to a dozen, which is more than anybody actually plans a dinner for.

It covers every kind of place on the island, not only restaurants, so a fair meeting point can be a cafe or a beach bar.

It is its own page rather than a layer on the map, because the map answers where is this and this answers who is coming and from where.

A route is a day, written down. The stops are real venues, chosen to be worth the detour and sequenced so the driving works.

Nothing in a route is paid for. A venue cannot buy a stop.

Routes have their own addresses and are meant to be shared, so sending one to somebody is a link rather than a list of names.

The guides are the written half of CyprusBites. They exist because a list of venues does not teach you how a place eats. District guides, seasonal eating and weekend plans, newest first.

The blog sits beside them, for openings, seasonal eating and food stories written by people who actually eat there.

Two standing pages are worth knowing about. Eat like a local is about finding the taverna with no menu in five languages rather than the restaurant with the biggest sign on the seafront. Discover Cyprus is the island in one read, for somebody who has a handful of meals here and wants to spend them well.

No venue pays to be named in any of it. That is one of the promises on the Trust page, and it is the reason a mention is worth reading.

Everything on CyprusBites is readable without an account. An account is for the things that belong to you: the places you saved, the tables you asked for, the takeaway you ordered, your Bites balance and your CyprusBites card.

Joining asks for four things. Your name, because a venue needs to know who is coming. Your email, because that is where your booking and your takeaway confirmations go. A password of at least eight characters. And your mobile number, which we then confirm by texting you a code.

Straight after you join, you are taken to that code screen. If the message does not arrive, you can correct the number and ask again, so a mistyped digit is never the end of it.

Your language choice sits in My details, then My details again. The whole site and the app are in English, Greek, German and Russian, and your choice follows you from page to page.

My plate is your side of CyprusBites. The top of the page is what is happening now: table requests, takeaway orders, party and stay quotes, group orders you are part of.

Below that are the things you have collected. Favourites, the visits you rated, your private notes, your Bites balance, your weekly dining streak, your badges and passport stamps, and your Show-Up Score.

The row of tabs along the top is the whole of your account: your card, your passport, your taste, table requests, parties, stays, takeaway, group orders, contacts, Comeback Passes, the Student Club, your support tickets and your details.

Nothing on this page is shared with anyone. Venues see a booking you made and a review you published, never your notes, your ratings or your taste profile.

The heart on a venue card and on a venue page saves it. Everything you have saved sits together on My plate, newest first.

Favourites do two jobs. They are your own list, and they are the clearest thing you can tell the taste profile behind your match scores. A place you saved counts more than a place you merely looked at.

They also decide who may reach you. A Golden Hour window or a quiet-night offer is only ever sent from a place you favourited or actually visited, never from a venue that simply paid to be heard.

Your taste profile is the half of your match score that is about you rather than about the moment. It is drawn from what you saved, what you booked, where you turned up and what you rated.

It is recomputed each time you open the page, so it is never stale. Every trait on it is editable, and editing it is not cheating: it is the fastest correction available to you.

It is private. No venue sees it, and nothing in it is sold or shared.

Every venue page has a private note. Write anything you like in it. It is yours, it is never published, and the venue cannot see it.

Separately, you can record a visit with your own rating and a memo. Those sit on My plate under your visits, and they are the raw material your taste profile learns from.

None of this is a review. A review is public, carries your name or your review nickname, and is asked for separately. A note is only ever for you.

The passport is the record of where you have eaten, and the badges are what it adds up to. Stamps come from visits the platform can see: a check-in, an arrival a venue scanned, a takeaway you collected, a meal recorded on your card.

Badges are not a currency. They buy nothing and they move nothing. They are there because a list of places you have been is more interesting than a number.

The page shows what you have and what you are close to, which is the useful half.

We write to you about a place you chose to have a relationship with: one you favourited, or one you actually visited. Never a venue that merely wants your attention.

There is a cap on how often, and a cap on how many venues may reach you in a week. Writing a review earns you nothing at all: no Bites, no discount, no prize. That is deliberate, and it is why the reviews on this site are worth reading.

You can turn all of it off in your details without losing anything else about your account.

Nobody wants to find words at eight in the morning, so we do not ask for any. Six questions, a tap each, and the questions are deliberately easy: the factual one comes first.

Three rules hold here and do not bend.

Nothing publishes that you have not read. We are putting words next to your name, so you see them first and you can rewrite every one of them.

Only somebody who was there is asked. The letter goes out only for a table the venue marked as seated, which is the strongest proof of a visit this platform has.

The number is worked out, never asked. Your star rating comes from your answers, so the scores behind best rated mean one consistent thing across the island.

You need no password to answer. The booking's own code is the key, the same one that opens your booking page.

This is a short list of the people you invite, kept on your account and nowhere else. It is not a social network and nobody is notified that you added them.

It feeds the invite step on group orders, party invitations and Gather, so you pick names instead of retyping addresses.

You can remove anybody at any time. Removing them from here does not touch any invitation already sent.

Your name is the name a venue sees on a booking, so keep it real. A separate review nickname decides what appears on a published review. Leave it empty and your own name is used.

Neither may suggest you speak for CyprusBites or write as one of its critics. The form says so if it refuses one.

Your language choice covers English, Greek, German and Russian, and it follows you across the site and the app.

Changing your password asks for the current one first. Changing your email asks for your password, then mails a confirmation link to the new address and a heads-up to the old one, so an account cannot be moved quietly.

A mobile number you have already confirmed cannot be edited here. That tick is what a venue leans on when it decides your booking is real, so changing the number and proving it again happen together or not at all.

A confirmed number is the difference between a booking a venue trusts and one it has to think about. It is also how the platform can text you about a table rather than hoping you open an email.

The screen carries the two things a code screen always forgets: a way to correct a number you mistyped, and a way to ask for the code again. A wrong digit is never a dead end.

If the code cannot be sent at all, your account still exists and you are told why. Nothing is lost.

A ticket is one thread with one reference. Everything you write and everything we write sits in it, in order, with any files either of us attached.

You can read and continue it from My plate, and you can simply reply to the email we send, which arrives in the same thread.

When it is closed you can rate the answer. That rating goes to the people who answer, nowhere else.

If your question is about something another member published rather than about your own account, use Report a concern instead. It has its own process and its own status page.

The assistant is grounded. It answers from the help catalog and from the way the platform is actually built, and it is deliberately bad at making things up.

When it does not know, it says so and offers to open a support ticket, carrying what you already typed so you do not write it twice.

It is help, not a concierge. If what you want is a restaurant rather than an answer, the Concierge is the other door, and it picks real venues.

This is the formal notice path, and it exists because the law requires one and because it is the right way to do it.

Every report gets a reference and a private status page at that reference. You can watch it move without an account and without emailing anybody.

Every decision carries a reason. A review that is declined or taken down goes through the same single process, so there is a record of why.

A complaint about your own booking, order or account is not a report. That is a support ticket, and it is answered faster.

The honest summary. We hold your account details, and the activity you chose to record: favourites, private notes, visits, reviews, taste preferences, trip plans and Bites activity. That is it.

We do not sell any of it and we carry no third-party advertising. Google Analytics runs only if you accept cookies. Our own visit counter uses a first-party cookie that never leaves CyprusBites.

The Do not track me page takes you out of our own counter as well, with one press.

The privacy policy is the full version, written to be read rather than to be defensible.

Deleting an account is deliberately a two-step act. You are shown what goes, and you re-enter your password, because nothing about it can be reversed afterwards.

Your Bites balance, your card accounts at every venue and your passport go with it. Points at a venue are not money and cannot be cashed out or moved, so there is nothing to transfer first.

If the real problem is that you are hearing from us too often, you do not need to leave. Two switches in My details stop every newsletter and every offer by text, and your account carries on.

A status page that goes down with the thing it is reporting on is worthless, so this one is built to render even when the database behind it cannot be read. In that case it says it cannot tell, which is the honest answer.

It covers the parts you would actually notice: table requests, takeaway orders, the alerts that reach venues, and email.

Nothing on it is written by hand. It is a snapshot taken when you open it.

If it says everything is fine and your own thing is not, that is worth a ticket, because it means something is wrong that the page cannot see.