"I reserve, by mail, a few weeks ago, a table for three people, asking if a vegetarian can find his happiness. We come on the very day of my almost fiftieth anniversary. I make almost two hours of car to get two friends back to the lyon before climbing in the Golden Mountains for our date that I had asked the delightful god. Instead, we're here, from the time of arrival, witnesses with a sad show. The parking lot is tiny. We have to turn around to park ourselves properly. Fortunately, at 7:30 p.m., we find room in front of the terrace. Let's talk about his reality, away from the commercial arguments on the website, supported by pretty well-lined photos: know that you will only have "the view" on tables for two people. The others will find themselves under the platanes under which we were offered a table... downhill, which gave me the nausea as soon as I sat. I'm asking that we be assigned another. We're denied it. the fact that staff find it acceptable shocks me. already the arguments are doubtful. It seems that those who have obtained the best places have made arrangements well before us! But how long have they been able to book? We then fight to make him make a quarter turn (I'm talking about the table, not the clown who welcomed us, who would still need a new look on his job )!. not very comfortable but roughly well calated, we command the aperitif. two glasses of white and a glass of Crozes-Hermitage, extracted from a bottle, which must do, a priori, the remaining meal for us three (I specify: "maximum chomel," winemaker in Gervans... 36 euros the 75 cl). There's no other word. a 2016 on the label and not 2015 as shown on the map. Even on a large surface, we find lirac or sandts that make much better proposals for this price range. We asked the carafer to offer us a little more personality. The waiter tells us he's out of it. I observe around me: not a table on which one hangs! My apprehension is increasing. In the entrance, a delicate smoky salmon lying on a bed of anth cream that could not have been imagined other than to their bread sweater. I then plunge my fork into a nice fish bet while a friend sucks his osso-bucco while the other ventilates his taste buds with his pork feather. We all end up, armed with our spoons, to quote on our apricots Bavarians who play hide-and-seek with the cookies and the financials made home, as well as the delicately scented red fruit soup. It is clear that in the kitchen, you can papot with serious people.But from sadness, I felt it again before I left, in the toilet, facing neon in the end of life that slammed. When I went there, I found the carpet of the well-disgusted corridors for such an establishment. Mr. nicolas d, So-called general manager of this sad canteen, who always seemed so sorry that your customers were not found answer to their expectations by coming to your establishment, spare me your usual and sterile formulas, dictated (what else do you think?) by an overdue ego and/or a mind too stubborn, unable to admit an opinion yet honestly exposed (and assumed). Answer me more: "ok... I'm interested in your improvement trails."I'm finished on a note of arabica... that I would have loved reinforced by a point of robusta. But that is if you had the curiosity of looking in the big city at the foot of your hill a roaster able to offer you a correctly burned Italian mix. Instead, I looked at the ugly juice you offered me to cool his nespresso logo cup. What a sadness!I repeat myself... it was my birthday and what I found at you, it's the kind of gift that we're trying to exchange so much the feeling that he left us is disappointing."
