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It was jarring, but in a way that felt utterly magical. What Disney has crafted in Galaxy’s Edge is something that feels genuinely transformative. But the other thing I noticed the most on my visit was that, for all the environmental touches that swept you away into the Star Wars universe, it’s almost too overwhelming: and it seems like Disney is starting to realize that not everyone who wants to go to a Star Wars land really wants that kind of immersive experience.

At Docking Bay 7, Galaxy’s Edge’s sole sit-down eatery, the food on the menu has been renamed to have more plain descriptions in comparison to the Star Wars-themed titles it debuted with: gone is the Endorian Yip-Tip, now it’s just Endorian Roasted Chicken Salad. Some of the more interestingly esoteric flavor profiles that have proven to be unpopular with tourists typically accustomed to nothing but pure sugar while on a Disneyland vacation—like Kat Saka’s multicolored sweet-and-spicy popcorn or the intriguingly floral notes of Bubo Wamba’s green milk—have been joined by more traditionally flavored variants. For the milk, there’s always been the better-recived, A New Hope-style blue version, which simply tastes like sweetened coconut milk, but in the popcorn’s case, there’s now a new chocolate-coated mix with a very minor sprinkling of “Crait” salt.

The Batuuan terminology used by cast members for real-world conventions has slowly but surely faded out—going to one of the stalls in the marketplace might still get you a “Bright Suns” instead of a “Hello,” but you’ll be asked if you’ve got an Annual Pass discount instead of a credit reduction these days. If you’re looking to find Savi’s workshop, the place where you can build your own lightsaber, castmembers no longer engage in the sly wink that all the workshop sells is “scrap,” in order to mask its true purpose from the watchful eyes of patrolling Stormtroopers. Instead, they’ll just tell you the Lightsaber Shop is thataway and it’s 200 bucks plus tax for the pleasure.

It’s easy to see why these changes are happening, even just six months after Galaxy’s Edge opened. Your average Disney or Star Wars fan isn’t coming to Disneyland to do the sci-fi equivalent of dressing up at a Renaissance Faire. They wanna ride the ride, buy a t-shirt with Baby Yoda on it, and maybe eat one of those sausage wraps they’ve heard so much about (Ronto, what’s a Ronto?). They want to be in a theme park, like the rest of Disneyland, not necessarily within a galaxy far, far away. The theming is nice, but having to engage with it on the level Disney first envisioned Galaxy’s Edge with—some of which has yet to materialize, like a reputation system built using the Disney Play app’s functions throughout the land that would see cast members react differently to you depending on who you were aligned with—is an abrupt ask for people, especially considering nowhere else in Disneyland operates like that.