2.0 Le Café Francais, 3, place de la Bastille in the 3th, 01.40.29.04.02 (Metro: Bastille) is a Costes (which I only this week learned was pronounced Coast not Cost-esse) Family restaurant, a group I have been wary of, ever since I first encountered one of the then 40 establishments they ran/run - Time called them "The Brothers who ate Paris." In any case, last week I ate at Le Petit Marché, another new Costes place and I decided maybe I've been wrong about these guys all these years. So, it's a Sunday, right, and I had to find a place accessible to/for my chef-pals with a pousette and up popped Le Café Francais. It's a nice enough place, cool setting, huge terrace, blue on blue and a menu that while pricey, looked like it could have something for everyone.
Actually I had trouble finding a first, but after my friend showed up minus the distaff side of the family, he readily ordered some foie gras, which, with a half of a buttered, toasted ficelle and a curried mango condiment, was darn good. My petit pois soup on the other hand was pretty tasteless even with salt and pepper.
Then he had some pricy chicken which was in his words "sous videy" and in mine "yuckily moist" with a huge side of FRENCH FRIES (we can call them that again) and I had a whole merlan Colbert (that is, fried) which even with a double portion of tartare sauce, salt, pepper and lime, was not up to the standard.
He ended with a fruit salad that we agreed was pretty good.
With a bottle and glass of wine, no bottled water, OK bread and butter and two coffees, our bill was a shocking 153 E; incredible, there must be a mistake, no, it's correct, Holy Cow!
Go back? I fear not in any case, not under any circumstances, not under any threat. So what's with the Scott (not Shakespere) quote - oh I felt deceived, snookered, scammed, robbed.