Dear new (and some old) Denver restaurants,

I think you might have yourselves confused with someone else. Did you really mean to charge $36 for that borderline inedible chicken? Was that three-sip cocktail honestly supposed to be $20?

Was I supposed to be grateful to spend $72 for said borderline inedible chicken and three-sip cocktail, only to have to stop at Good Times on the way home to fill up? Oh wait, it was more like $80 after the kitchen fee, worker health insurance fee and farmers’ fee. (Which I get, but also, ouch!)

I understand that minimum wage has skyrocketed, that downtown real estate could be a bubble bigger than in my $18 — for a mini, personal-sized — pizza crust, and that the price of meat and eggs and everything else edible (unlike that chicken) has risen as steeply as my homeowner’s insurance.

I also understand the value of a good meal, and I’m happy to pay for it. I once flew to San Francisco to eat a loaf of bread. I’ve rhapsodized in these pages about a $450 per person dinner that changed how I thought about food. I’ve spent thousands over the years trying hot new spots instead of contributing to a retirement account. (Oops!)

Many dining experiences in Denver are worth the cost. But you, brand new RiNo restaurant, are not a Frasca that has earned the right to charge $215 for its tasting menu. I don’t think you are offering us any brilliant new takes on the sweet potato, a la Alma Fonda Fina. You are not making the best version of anything in town, or even a top ten, so maybe rethink your $7 a piece dumplings.

Nor did you, new restaurant calling itself a casual neighborhood eatery while pricing your starter-sized salad at $17, entertain my family for three hours like Casa Bonita. Instead, you sat me elbow to elbow with a stranger, charged me $30 to make the reservation, and told me I’d be ejected from that backless stool without a purse hook after 90 minutes.

Increasingly, dinner out at our “nice” restaurants is a couple of hundred dollars, and that’s without alcohol. That’s a lot of money for most people, myself included. That sort of meal could be someone’s big anniversary or extravagance for the year. If you’re charging upwards of $16 for a cocktail and $35 for eggplant, they need to be damn good liquor and aubergine.

And the thing is, new LoHi restaurant, yours are not. You’re not doing anything better or more unique than the last disappointing restaurant that opened a block down that’s still clinging to QR code menus and wants me to bus my own table.

Yes, I know I’m a privileged food writer who often gets these sorts of meals for free. I and my colleagues and the outlets that give us a $40 dining budget to find the 12 best sushi restaurants in town need to do better at telling our readers what’s worth it and what isn’t. I’m also a huge Denver restaurant fan who, when I’m off the clock, can’t afford to keep paying $300 for ho-hum meals. It’s my job to hype the greats, but what to do with the not-so-greats?

I know that it’s challenging to make the restaurant economics work. But it’s not just you whose math just ain’t mathing. Our budgets are tight, too, and I can’t take my kids out for breakfast when your basic egg and cheese sandwich is $20. There’s certainly a place for fine dining done well, but increasingly, decidedly un-fine dining is being priced at that level.

Someday, newish restaurant, you might nail that chicken and build a staff where the hospitality alone is worth the price of admission. But come on, we both know you’re not there yet, so stop pretending you’re Alinea and put away the tweezers and mini squeeze bottles for fussy food prep and focus on best serving your current customers so they want to come back.

There’s got to be a way to make eating out work for everyone. Maybe instead of jacking up your intro pricing to match the James Beard Award winners across town, you prioritize serving a good meal, at a fair price? I really want to support you — I think we all do — but I also want health insurance, and I can’t seem to afford both.