Chez le Chef’s verdant exterior is more appropriate for a plant shop than a French restaurant. Scattered handwritten signs, an overcrowded deli counter and a song straight out of a music box floating creepily in the air greeted us. “Hello?” I anxiously called out. “For dinner?” A server popped out from behind the counter. I nodded, “for two please.” “Upstairs, table number five.” My friend Drazen and I headed up to what looked like an old aunt’s living room drowning in Christmas lights, stuffed toys, flowers both fake and real, and about a dozen set, but vacant tables.

Curiosity is mostly what brought me here. People had such extreme reviews, either hating or loving it, with mention of an eccentric chef and New York Magazine crediting him with the best French Toast of 1988.

Chef Frederic appeared, decked out in a gigantic chef’s hat, an orange bow and great cottony mutton chops framing his wide grin. Slightly terrified, I scanned the plastic covered menus as Drazen ordered Bratwurst and beer. I decided on the Coq au Vin and “only water please,” when the chef, in his German accent chided, “We’re not very fun tonight, are we?” In shock that he challenged my “funness” and determined to prove him wrong, I agreed to have spiced red wine, which turned out to be a most excellent choice.

The table bread was soft and fresh. When the food arrived, the powerful aroma of dried leaves stabbed my nostrils. Everything was unfortunately over seasoned with Herbes de Provence – my tender, juicy chicken, the overcooked stewed vegetables, the fluffy mashed potatoes, even my tacky plate. The mess of a presentation was unappealing and the sauce, dry, acidic and too strongly flavored, did not impress me.

I crossed my fingers in hope that the desserts, offered by the intense European-trained pastry chef, would redeem my mediocre dinner. Before heading back to my table to await the treats I picked out from the rotating dessert case, I spotted the chef, who, despite his cheery nature, looked weary. He’s “been here too long,” he mused, and shared his dream of moving to sunny Costa Rica. Despite his past success and honest passion for cooking, he noted he’d prefer to do “something completely different” if given a chance to do it all over.

As we finished the bright lemon tart and the black forest cup inedibly soaked in rum, I felt sad. Sad that curious passers-by were too intimidated to cross the threshold, sad that Chez le Chef’s success was on its deathbed, sad to hear of Chef Frederic’s woes. He handed us tasty butter cookies on our way out, and I wondered… was he really tired of all this, or did the modernization of the culinary world leave him behind without a clue of how to use his traditional style to keep up? Perhaps it was time to close shop, but strangely enough, the comforting mood in the place made me hope he wouldn’t. I won’t be back for dinner, but I’d still like to try their brunch. If anything, I will hand Chef the photograph we took with him and to continue our chat over a bottle of champagne.

VERDICT
Atmosphere: ★ for clean and sentimental but excessively kitschy atmosphere
Service: ★★★★ for great service and Chef Frederic’s welcome involvement and bizarre charm
Food: ★★ for confused food that was too expensive for being hit or miss
Overall: ★★

RATING SYSTEM
Excellent ★★★★★ Very Good ★★★★ Good ★★★ Average ★★ Poor ★