This must be a joke, we thought, perpetrated by Paul Bocuse; a gag, a spoof. Why? Well:…read moreThe sardines were from a can. From a can! For nearly 20 euros! Where are we, we wondered: a New York City coffee shop? Then we got the wrong food, chicken instead of the calf's liver, and no apology, just a huff. The risotto? Also from a can. What the freak gives?
Service was amateurish, with lots of Gallic fol-de-rol masking comic incompetence.
Prices are HIGH. This place is VERY EXPENSIVE. And the food STINKS.
Oh. Then we did some googling and figure it out. Paul Bocuse, the Donald Trump of French cooking, licensed his name to a bunch of ripoff "artistes," and this ripoff joint is one of the franchises. Bocuse, may he RIP, may have been celebrated 60 years ago, but this is a Cheesecake Factory paying royalties to his estate. Shameful.
On the plus side, it's kind of cool, in an old train station.
What an embarrassment! But that's the Donald Trump of France for you.