The French House, Dank Street, Waterloo, 17/02/13

Sacre Bleu!

They say looks can be deceiving but 'The French brothel House' is more deceptive than Eddie Obeid on holidays in The Hunter.

Teasing us with her seductive setting amid uber-urban chic Dank Street, and shaelessly boasting of her outrageous feaux French Imperial decor, this Gaalic concubine lady promised nostalgic cuisine from the Continent but failed to deliver on all levels.

The lowlights included:

*  A ridiculous system (and that's a generous term) of ordering, paying and delivering the meals. Not even the staff knew how it worked.

*  Staff who were as slow as a bowl of escargots (and I mean already cooked!).

*  Argumentative, humourless and inexperienced staff.

* Ghastly coffee.

The food, well,.... indescribably bad. If our readers can bear it, try reading our individual comments below:

BRAD:  I thought I'd be safe and have the French toast. Well, it was a stodgy, chewy, flavourless flour-based concotion of some form but forensically impossible to identify.

SAL:

ANDREW: I'm so sorry!

And in a fitting postscript to our morning. We couldn't even escape this nightmare after we had setlled l'addition because the heavens opened with appropriate apocalyptic force and poured flooding curses upon this abomination of Sydney eateries. It was worth getting drenched just to get out of this place. (Brad: Come to think of it, I should have used the French Toast as a bouyancy vest to flaot to the car. Tht's all it is good for!)

Never again.

OVERALL SCORE:  1 (soppy) Egg