Restaurant review #276

Today we'll be reviewing the ever so branché* Chez Marianne.

Chez Marianne
2, Rue des Hospitalières Saint-Gervais
4th Arrondissement,
Paris, France
Tel: 01 42 72 18 86
Cuisine: Middle Eastern

Every time hubby and I go to the Marais (which means three to five times a month) we always end up walking past Chez Marianne at some point. Each time we tell ourselves that place must be really good since there is always a HUGE line of people waiting to get a table and by the looks of the plates of people dining on the terrasse, the food must be delish.

So today we finally decided to give it a try. We got there and were pleasantly surprised to find that there wasn't a line at all. As we headed towards the entrance to ask a waitress for a table, a couple sitting nearby told us they'd just asked for the bill and were about to leave so we could have their table if we wanted.

We should have suspected something was wrong when after 20 minutes the waitress still hadn't come by their table to charge their credit card (which had been visibly placed in the middle of the table to let the waitress know they were ready to go). The couple kept looking at us with apologizing eyes and we kept telling them it wasn't their fault. The three girls that were visibly the only waitresses around kept whizzing past them never once stopping to take care of their bill. I was starting to think this place might not be a good idea when finally one of the girls came and let them pay and be on their way.

As they were getting up to leave, this other couple that had just arrived at the restaurant started to head towards our table. Hubby and I politely waited for the waitress to tell them that they had to wait for another table as this one had our name on it (being as she had seen us wait 20 freaking minutes for it!!) but she just turned around and left, not giving us a second thought!!! Fortunately, hubby sprang to action and jumped ahead of them just in time to let them know that was OUR table and they were going to have to fist-fight us for it.

So even though now we were settled and set I kept having this nagging feeling that things weren't going to get better. During the 20 minutes that we'd been waiting I'd had enough time to scout the waitresses and come to the conclusion that all three of the girls:

a) didn't give a damn about the customers
b) were as impolite and impatient as they come, and
c) had other priorities than taking orders and bringing food to tables. Such priorities included stopping to take long drags from a waiting cigarette sitting on a counter every 5 minutes, stopping to take long sips of their Diet Coke waiting for them at the cashier's desk every 10 minutes, stopping to crunch at the Pringels can that they were all munching out of whenever they weren't smoking their cigarette or drinking their diet cokes.

Still, despite all of this we told ourselves that the food was probably worth the snooty attitude and anyway, duh, this is Paris. Everyone knows mean waiters are an absolute must-have at any self-respecting restaurant in Paris.

30 minutes later one of the girls came to take our order.

Fortunately for us, we got the Good waitress. By Good I mean the one that wasn't sneaking out every 20 mins to the convenience store across the street where a friend was waiting to continue what must have been a really interesting conversation. Or the other waitress that unabashedly kept turning her back to any new customer that dared to ask her if it would be possible to have a table for two.

Food arrived just around the time my stomach had already resigned itself to the fact that it was going to skip this meal and had stopped sending S.O.S-STARVING-HERE-DAMN-IT! messages to my brain.

Good thing I wasn't that hungry anymore. Cuz the food wasn't that great. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that what came to our table was not exactly what had gone up to the waitress's note pad when she took our order. No Fallafel was in view even though it had been the first thing we'd ordered. Instead, we got what looked like the long lost cousin of a Fallafel: the sneaky Kefta... which an unfortunate bite later revealed to be a fried ball of minced PORK meat. G-r-e-a-t!

I finally waved my white flag when I tucked into the hummus and almost gagged. Seriously, how can anyone screw up hummus for me? I can live a week on the freaking stuff and nothing else. But yes, Chez Marianne they add the special ingredient that makes their hummus taste like someone's smelly sour sock fell into the hummus tub.... three days ago.

Good thing we had enough cash on us to be able to leave it on the table when our bill arrived and not have to wait for Good Waitress to finish her cigarette, drink up her coke and wipe her hands clean of Pringles' grease before coming to our table with the Credit Card machine.

Now if only I could stop the stomach ache, I'm sure I'd be in a slightly better mood. I might even give Chez Marianne extra points.... for good location.


Overall note: 1.5 / 20

Chez Marianne. Courtesy of Wikipedia.

Fned.
(who's still hungry)

*branché = ubber cool

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