This adorably pretty, 50-year-old veteran is like a faded film set – unashamedly romantic and defiantly, almost theatrically French. It’s always a ‘squeeze’ in the cluster of small rooms with their quirkily rustic jumble of lace curtains, scuffed wooden chairs, retro china, flickering candles and baskets of dried flowers, but there’s more space out on the terrace flanked by potted olive trees. The menu, written in French, offers a flavoursome run through the classics of ‘simple country cooking’ – onion tart, cassoulet, rabbit in mustard sauce and, of course, poule au pot continue to work their magic. There are plenty of votes for the surprisingly well-priced wine list, too: the ‘quaffable’ house wine is dispensed in magnums, and you simply pay for what you drink. Twinkly-eyed waiters know how to turn on the charm.
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