Stephen Mills
Google
My wife and I entered Le Parc Aux Cerfs with high expectations and an eager appetite for dinner. This cozy Montparnasse restaurant is on 50 Rue Vavin in the 6me. We were seated in the brightly lit front room (would this be the “Penalty Box”?) and not in the more atmospheric “coeur” back room where most of their clientele dine. This was October and we had booked way back in March, yet here we were, figures in our own Edward Hopper painting and one hour later, the picture hadn’t improved. We had finished our sparkling water and were half way through a bottle of red but no food, not even bread—not even a waiter—had come to the table. Nearby diners were all served their three courses. Finally, after an hour and ten minutes, they brought us our main dishes, but had never brought the appetizers. When we explained this (in their language) they found it hard to believe they could have made such a mistake—we were not being truthful. They soon realized their mistake—the waitress had written it down, after all—and so now our good fortune was to wait even longer to get the correction. They cursorily expressed fault, but did nothing to compensate—no courtesy stem of champagne or “merci” macaron. This, with an accumulating attitude of hostility and passive aggression—randomly cleaning glasses at the nearby counter versus clearing our stranded plates. The food was great, but realizing they probably eat it too, and seeing how they evolved, I now hate to think what’s in it. I would characterize the service as sadistic, but, hey, it’s your move. PS—we have had great times at wonderful French restaurants (reviews to follow) and, except this once, find the service efficient, positive, welcoming. This one spells dud—and you can put it in caps.