This is a French wannabe restaurant, but oh well, it tries hard. It's like if an ordinary Peter changed his name to "Pierre," put on a berret, but forgot to fake the French accent.
If this review sounds snobby, it's because I've been spoiled by bona fide New Orleans restaurants for years.
Let me start with the good, first though: The banana chocolate dessert bursted with flavor, and their cinnamon donuts were to die for. To give the restaurant credit, they also had a lovely, fresh chive cream cheese you can tell they made from scratch on the premises. But the waitress looked at my aunt like she had just asked to "peel her a grape" when she asked the bagels be cut into quarter sized pieces. Ha ha ha.
When I ordered a Croque Monssieur, it came with a white sauce that it "said" was bechamel, but come on: it's supposed to be more off-white and not be so bland. My aunt made fun of the fact it was not on a french sort of toast but on white bread. Tacky. Perhaps Wonder? ;) Le sigh. Can you really be ALL that discerning about Parisian cuisine when you are in the land of beer and brats?