John Picard
Google
“How was your meal?” We were asked. “A disappointment” would be the frank truth.
Some of that stemmed from choices apparently made by the chef-patron.
There’s no one to welcome you when you arrive- no maitre d to be seen. Instead waiting staff take a hurried moment to show you to a table, before dashing back to service- didn’t feel like a great start.
The tables are fairly close together outside (which I don’t grudge at all).
The bread rolls, though brown, were very unexceptional.
And as we were about to start eating, our neighbour began smoking. Something doesn’t square here: the chef’s serious about his food, so serious he names his restaurants after himself, but he’ll let clients ruin others’ taste with a fag blown over the meal. Maybe that was appropriate once- but I’d say those days have passed. If people must smoke, it should be away from other diners.
So we went inside, and were blasted by a curated play list- not quiet jazz to add ambience, or chanson, or nothing- but AI covers with thumping disco beats. Again, didn’t fit with the self importance of the setting. Frankly we were impatient to leave.
But we were more impatient to see the celebrated sweet trolley- bit of a surprise too. Not dessert as expected, but passable patisserie, served alone. A piece of tart, for example, or a chocolate cake. But not at a constructed dish with, say, cake, fruit, ice.
The main course=entree was good. The starters were so refined they were not as tasty as we like. But the rest of the experience was off- not because the waiters seemed tired (though they did), not because the wrong dish was brought once ( that didn’t matter), but because the chef’s decisions feel ready for review….
