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How can some restaurants so shoot themselves in the foot?
Are they lazy, irresponsible or sick?
I’m in a quandary about a place that opened to significant fanfare and where I’ve made reservations to eat at three times, only one of which was resulted in a meal, and a good one at that.
The first time I called, knowing that they didn’t open for lunch until 1:00, I arranged to meet a friend at 1:00PM exactly. Arrival a few minutes before 1:00PM brought no sign of life. The place was completely shuttered. I waited, looked in the window, tried to ascertain where the side or back entrance was, hoped the gleam from the back meant the chef was prepping; zip, zero, nada. My dining pal showed up and I had a back-up, Fidelité, just a bus ride away, which was unfortunately more miserable for him than me.
Second visit, a month later, I reserved for the PM before I was due to take off for the USA. No guest this time, so I had many back-ups. But there was no problem and indeed it was a great, moderately calm evening… until a bunch of rich Russian oligarchs and their teased, bleached haired dates/ladies/whatever showed up. Regardless, my l’os a moelle and veal with a cilantro sauce were great. So I thought I’d got it knocked.
Then, by George, I reserved for Colette and myself, again in daylight. And again the place was deserted. Now, this is not the first time I’ve been confronted with restaurants taking a reservation and not honoring it. Once on the West Side of Manhattan it was a bomb threat, once on the East Side a husband/wife screaming match in the kitchen, once by a chef/staff dispute in Philadelphia (City of Brotherly Love), once by a power outage and once by flooding (Paris).
There are places that will not honor my custom because I’ve violated some unspoken/unwritten rule (the Table d’Adrien in Paris for example) or I’ve panned so badly they send me hate mail. And I certainly understand when someone in the family dies and they leave a polite note on the shutters explaining why they are “exceptionnellement” closed.
But like the airlines, who find it impossible to tell you why a plane is delayed for minutes or hours or sometimes a day, a resto that takes your reservation and has your telephone number, should let you know some disaster has struck.
It’s no secret where I had one great and two empty meals:
Mon Oncle
3, rue Durantin in the 18th
(Metro: Abbesses)
T: 01 42 51 21 48
Supposedly closed only Saturday noon and Sunday night and Monday
Lunch formula 22, a la carte 20-30 €
Blog: John Talbott’s Paris
©by John Talbott 2008
