open letter to Naked Tchopstix

Dear Naked Tchopstix,

How's it going? It was so nice to see you last night - it had been too long! I hate to bring down the mood, but something happened last night that made me a little sad. Well, really, there are two things that got me a bit down last night.

But first, let me tell you a bit about why I will always love you. Your bibimbap and ginger-cinnamon cooler delight me. They are heavenly, refreshing, full of new flavor combinations, and just plain good. Your sushi is yummy, too, if not my favorite in town. Really, though, it's about the bibimbap, a dish that makes me so happy that I took one dining companion's half-eaten food home last night, without a shred of decency or shame.

Now, the unfortunate things must be addressed. Do you know how depressing it is to make a reservation and discover that it has somehow not been recorded? I didn't know until last night, when your chipper hostess looked at me blankly as I told her my name, but it is not fun. It is especially not fun to have this reservation disappearing act when one has accepted the responsibility of organizing the location duties for a monthly dinner group. Thank you, though, for quickly seating us despite this oversight on your behalf.

Unfortunate thing two revolves around the environmental duality that you have set up for yourself. Let it be known that I'm glad that you've expanded and created a lovely bar space. Your new room is pretty and in keeping with your minimal but exuberant interiors. I liked it a lot, at least at first. But then, a bit into our meal, my dining group of five women somehow were transported into a semi-cheesy bar atmosphere. The lights dimmed and the music swelled as girls with increasingly glossed lips and revealed bosoms entered the room. Conversation become more difficult. Food became less of a feature. The music, loud and not that good, proved to be a serious distraction.

Honestly, the food is almost good enough to happily ignore these kinds of things. However, when we left, my heart sank a little as I realized we'd been put in the half of the restaurant reserved for young-young adults. In the original half of the space, no blaring dance club beat prevented diners from happily carrying on long conversations and enjoying their food in relative calm. It felt, well, like a place for adults to enjoy dining, rather than a place for girls to look hot.

the adult space

In short, darling Naked Tchopstix, this is not a dear-John letter. Rather, I wanted to let you know that you have too good of a kitchen to devote half of your restaurant to pleasing people who will be jaunting off to the Monkey's Tale after (possibly) under-appreciated your food. Can't they just be given a back closet? It just kind of breaks my heart that you'd devote that much energy to people who may not love you for the right reasons. But hopefully it will keep you and your generally lovely staff in a good financial position. After all, college kids can buy plenty of sushi and cocktails on their parents' credit cards.

Love the adult half of your restaurant!
Kirsten