Dear Jeffery’s,

Through the  years in Clarksville, while I’ve enjoyed the many other fine restaurants on West Lynn, I’d skipped you because I thought, that’s just a little to rich for my blood. Valet parking in this neighborhood? Really?  Ok whatever, I’m prejudiced, cause I can walk there and your customers always seem to be trying to kill me when I’m on my bike.

However last night, Groupon in hand, we broke the seal so to speak. At first blush you’ve got a nice place, although it does seem to cater exclusively to douches and blue-hairs (of which we are neither) but the wine is acceptable, and overall things are going well. Jeff (can i call you Jeff? you ripped me off so I’m going to), here’s where things started go poorly… maybe it was the fact the at we walked up to the place as opposed to rolling up in our Jag like everyone else (we don’t have a jag that was humor.. a form of communication your staff doesn’t really comprehend), maybe it was telling the server we have a discount and she assumed we would be poor tippers (I always tip at least 20% on the full check amount), or maybe it was just hot back there in the kitchen (unlike three out of the four dishes we ordered) and you guys were having a bad night. But nothing excuses the geologic age of a wait we had to sit through from one course to the next (I’ll give you that presentation of the check was very snappy), the luke warm dough lumps you’re grandly calling gnocchi, or the comically small portions to which the only benefit was making me feel like a giant while eating them.

So here’s the thing Jeff, you’ve been there for a while and i can respect that in the cut-throat world of the restaurateur. And you’ve provided an anchor for the other, much preferred spots on the street like Zocalo. Your barman can make a mean drink, and desert was tasty. But so help me, if i ever find myself in a position of eating a full meal at your establishment ever again, i hope you won’t mind if I walk next door and get a plate of non-douchey, reasonably-sized, properly-seasoned tacos. I’m sure they won’t be arranged as artfully as your plates, but at least that way I won’t inconvenience your staff by having them do their jobs.