Au Petit Gari

All seemed fine at first, an ambitious if expensive menu and a gushing waiter doing front of house at our outdoor table in the newly face-lifted Place Garibaldi. Only strange thing was that when one of our party enquired about the daily set "menu", we were told that the "Petit Gari" frowned on such practices as it could lead to food being less than fresh, and that the only item they stored in their freezer was ice cream. Try telling that to the plethora of restaurants that provide this economical option to punters all over their country. Moments after the main course was served things started to deteriorate. One of our party (3 out of 4 of us were ex pats), a food critic and writer, observed that her spaghetti with clams and chorizo contained not a single piece of chorizo. When she pointed this out no apology was forthcoming, just a statement that the chef had forgotten and that it was too late to add it. After a few minutes a few tired pieces of chorizo on a saucer were shoved in front of her and she was told that the chef had found them at the bottom of the pot. Very appetising. Another of us discovered that her pasta was totally tasteless and lacked most of the promised accoutrements. Perhaps least fortunate was J, who felt suspicious of her salmon tartare, which she proclaimed too fatty to eat. It arrived drenched in soy sauce which rendered it an unpleasant shade of chocolate brown. I was perhaps lucky that my "filet de turbot printonniere avec tapenade maison" seemed pretty innocuous, though apparently totally unseasoned. It was served on the bone rather than being a "filet" and was accompanied by a bit of lettuce, perhaps a trace of tapenade and some unpalatable mashed potato. Disappointing, especially considering the 26 euro price tag. Although the response to the lack of chorizo had not exactly been heartening, it was decided that something should be said. When we ventured that we were generally not happy with the food, there were no questions about specifics, just a declaration that we were the first people to complain in 7 years and a reference to the reviews pasted on the front window. Before we knew it the chef was turfed out of the kitchen to admonish us. He stood on one side of the table, while the front of house man stood like a sentry to my right, so that we felt surrounded. We did our best to explain our issues but were rebutted forcefully by both of them on every count.. No amendment was made to our hefty bill, not that we dared to ask. The last words to poor R, who had missed out on the chorizo were, "I have your phone number and I can find out where you live." We left shell shocked, as if in the middle of a strange dream, or perhaps nightmare would be the most appropriate word.