Earlier this year, I wrote a review for a local restaurant that still haunts me.

Writing a review prompts the writer to decide: Do you recommend the place or don’t you? Well, in this case, I didn’t -- and the owner of the restaurant was quite displeased when the review was published. She was so displeased, in fact, that after receiving several angry emails I actually asked if perhaps we should take down the review. My editor (rightly) replied, “No. It’s a review – that’s how it goes.”

So, why did this outcome bother me so much?

I have "Yelped" a hundred or more restaurants, and never really given the consequences much thought. But this was different. I had never experienced such backlash from a business owner in response to something I had written. My name was attached to it. My REAL name. And my picture. My anonymity was gone.

I always considered myself a responsible Yelper. I didn’t write a negative review unless I’d visited a place twice and I’ve never written a review for the purpose of getting back at a place for giving me a sub-par dining experience. As much as I was able, I tried not to say anything that I wouldn’t say directly to the manager, chef or owner.

So, why wasn’t I just saying it directly to them?

The truth is, I do. If it’s a restaurant I eat in regularly or if I know the owner, chef, server -- any place I have some personal, vested interest in -- I’ll tell them when something is off.  

I recently ate at a breakfast place I love and ordered some of their house-cured bacon, which was made from pigs that the proud owners raised themselves. I’d been eagerly anticipating its arrival on the menu and I wanted so badly to love it.  But, despite its gorgeous color, flavor and super-lean cut, it was inedible. It was the saltiest thing I’ve ever been served in a restaurant.

I lingered at the counter for about 20 minutes longer than I had time for, waiting until the current rush had subsided and got the owner's attention. I’ve had many conversations with him over my coffee and eggs and I felt comfortable enough to tell him that he might want to taste the side of bacon he had just cured if he hadn’t already. I told him that I thought it was really salty. We chatted for a minute or two longer and as I left he shouted after me, “Thanks for saying something about the bacon.”

It was an encounter that I felt really good about. I had told this man that his bacon sucked. But I said it to his face, I said it nicely and I said it in private. I said it with the intention of helping, not hurting, his business.

I feel pretty terrible that I haven’t always extended this courtesy to stranger restaurants that I don’t patronize on a regular basis. Isn’t it possible that there are nice, hard-working and decent people slaving away in those places as well?

I spoke with several San Anselmo and Fairfax restaurateurs and the overwhelming sentiment is that Yelp is a great tool in theory, but one that people are incredibly careless with.

One woman I spoke with who owned a local restaurant for nine years before closing in 2009 offered her thoughts on Yelp:

“Pleasing everyone is impossible. Sometimes, someone doesn’t like what you’re doing and they take it personally. It’s not personal. We’re just people and sometimes we make mistakes. They write about it on Yelp and they don’t consider that it might affect my livelihood. Why couldn’t they just talk with my staff or me? It’s hurtful.”

A server friend of mine raised this point:

“I look at Yelp from time to time to see what people are saying about (my restaurant) and the other day I saw that someone added a pretty negative review. She said that someone had been rude to her. I clicked on her profile and it was a woman who comes in at least twice a week and is always so friendly. She lives right down the street and it’s like, really? It may sound stupid, but it seemed so un-neighborly. We have great managers and I’m sure that if she talked to one of them they would have made things right."

Be a good neighbor. Think (and maybe talk in person) before you Yelp.