"My mom sent me this today," began the email from my co-worker, which he'd simply titled "How NOT To Write a Groupon Description."
"She says the place is really terrific," he continued, "but this description...I mean..."
The Groupon ad, for a wine bar in Spring called Crescent Moon, started out innocuously enough:
Tables at fine-dining restaurants are known for their fancy white-linen outfits, unlike tables in home kitchens, which are notorious for going nude.
...wait, going nude? I'm sure that's just a sort of lame attempt at being cute and funny. Right?
But the ad only got stranger from there. Like an overeager copywriter's first piece of descriptive writing, the ad unfolded into a flowery piece of fluff made stranger by subtle hints of creepiness in its edges.
Tuscany-inspired stone arches soar over leather chairs clustered around candlelit tables where diners tuck into Crescent Moon Wine Bar and Restaurant's compilation of tender Italian meats, pizzas, and paninis. During dinner rendezvous, 8-ounce braised beef short rib steeped since sunrise in Shiner Bock gravy falls from bones to plates piled with mashed potatoes, broccolini, and fried brussels sprouts ($24). A sheen of pomegranate glaze glistens like a diamond ring fresh from the rock tumbler atop pan-seared salmon fillets ($18). The lunch menu accentuates lighter fare with noshes such as the merlot panini, a sizzling herbed chicken breast and bacon with mushrooms and swiss cheese clamped in the vise-like grip of a white or wheat bun ($10). Marco pizzas hoist arugula, apples, and truffle oil spread across swiss and brie cheese to new homes in mouths ($12, add shaved prosciutto for $2) or the secret compartment of a magician's top hat.
Musicians pump out a soft score for feasts nearly every night amid racks lined with more than 300 wines (though today's Groupon is not valid for alcohol). Exposed wooden beams hover overhead like the spirits of overprotective ancestors, while Italian-inspired paintings punctuate alternating stone and stucco walls.
I'm sure Crescent Moon is a perfectly nice place, but I also don't want to eat with exposed wooden beam poltergeists hovering above my head, nor do I want its "Marco pizzas" to make a new home in my mouth. Wouldn't permanently housing food in your mouth cause gum disease and tooth decay?
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SHOW ME HOW
Congratulations, Crescent Moon. Your Groupon writer has secured a spot in our pantheon of shame, affixed firmly between The Muffin Man's penis-heavy flyer advertising a new Montrose restaurant and restaurateur Paul West's insane press release describing himself as an elitist, an asshole, a solider of fortune and a mercenary.
And you thought it couldn't get any worse than penis-shaped bakeries...