What a sad, arrogant echo of what this place once might have been. The waiters - mostly old men who seem either exhausted, annoyed with life, or both - fumbled through the evening with visible discomfort and outright rudeness. I respect age and experience. I do. But the physical and emotional exhaustion of the staff became our burden: shaky hands, forgotten dishes, reprimanding voices, glares instead of grace. If you're tired of the job - retire. Don't punish your guests. I don't give an ounce of shag what your issues at home are.
We had to beg them to take our order. One man even barked at his brother across the room. Charming. Our salads and artichokes? Forgotten. The portion of broccoli? A joke. Four sad florets, though we asked for a proper plate. The vongole? Flavourless and forgettable. My beloved wife - trained at the École Ritz Escoffier - makes a better version at home on a Tuesday night. Makes you want to lick out the bowl. Just kidding...
To compound the evening's unraveling: another table erupted into loud, graceless celebration - complete with shouted birthdays, alma mater name-drops, and self-congratulation of the most cringeworthy kind. When we politely asked the staff to step in, we were met with a shrug and a "It's noisy everywhere." That might be true in a Neapolitan fish market - but not in what claims to be a refined Parisian institution.
La Stresa lives off faded photographs and older regulars who perhaps no longer notice how poor the food and atmosphere have become. There's no joy here. No pride. No good service, no good manners. Just tired people resenting the job and punishing the clients for it.
I don't say this lightly: It's a disgrace. They should sell the place to someone who remembers what hospitality means. Until then - avoid. There's nothing left to see. read more