Rosa Jackson's Edible Adventures

Place Garibaldi

If my brief career as a Paris bistro chef has given me fresh admiration and respect for restaurant owners who care, it has also made me less forgiving of those who take the customer for an uncomfortable ride.

Au Petit Gari, facing the increasingly animated Place Garibaldi in Nice, seems to have everything going for it: a terrace shaded by the 18th century arcades, a blackboard menu that reads like a hit list of bistro classics, a jovial host. So, even if I hadn't actually tried it, I felt fairly confident as I reserved a table earlier this week for dinner with three British friends.

Things started promisingly enough as the waiter made a point of telling us that the kitchen only works with fresh ingredients. One of our group, a journalist who spends part of every month in Nice, asked if there was a set menu.

He scoffed. "When you see a set menu, it almost certainly means that they are working with pre-prepared dishes that they keep in the freezer."

It was the first time in 15 years of writing about French restaurants that I had heard anyone make that claim, but I was willing to let it go despite the stiff prices - starters around 10 euros, main courses 15 to 26 euros - and despite the fact that Au Petit Gari does have a set lunch menu.

The two salads that we shared as starters were unremarkable, though I was mystified by the unshelled sunflower seeds that came with the rocamadour cheese on tapenade toasts, and we wondered what curry powder was doing in a vinaigrette for marinated goat cheese and cured ham from the Auvergne.

Things started to fall apart with the main courses. When my linguine with clams arrived, I remembered that it was also supposed to contain chorizo. Search as I might, I couldn't find a trace of the spicy sausage. I called over the waiter - a different one by now - and pointed out the problem. "I'll go and see the chef," he said.

A minute later the waiter reappeared and explained to me that the chef had forgotten to include the chorizo in the sauce, but that it was now too late as it had to be added at the beginning.

"Er, what does he plan to do about it?" I asked.

He disappeared again, emerging this time with a little plate bearing three thin slices of chorizo. "He found these at the bottom of the pot."

Across the table from me, things were even worse. One friend was despairing over her assiette du voisin, a pasta dish that tasted like something a very unimaginative student with no oil or salt in the cupboard might have thrown together. Another was looking dubiously at her salmon tartare, which was cut into cubes the size of dice and doused in soy sauce. After a few bites, she pronounced it too fatty to eat. The last was searching her plate for the tapenade that was supposed to come with her 26 euro filet de turbot, which turned out to be served on the bone.

The waiters must have sensed our discomfiture, since they whisked our plates away without lingering long enough for us to comment. By now our evening had been thoroughly spoiled and all we could talk about was the disastrous food. We wondered whether to say anything to the waiter, whose initial over-the-top friendliness had already turned sour.

As he put the bill on the table, I couldn't resist speaking up. "We were disappointed with our food."

He waved at a glassed-in wall near the entrance, where several guidebook logos were displayed.

"It's the first time in seven years that we've had a complaint, and look at all the people who disagree with you."

Knowing how outspoken French people can be, I found this a little hard to swallow and said so. The waiter stomped off and came back with the perspiring chef, positioning themselves on either side of our table. "Go ahead, tell him what was wrong with your meal." 

I suddenly felt like I had been thrown into a particularly violent tennis match, with each comment being slammed back to us until we were crushed. "We were born in the restaurant business," they claimed. "What do you know?" The waiter finished with a flourish: "I have your phone number and I can find out where you live."

Exceptionally horrific as this experience was, it served as an important reminder that eating in Nice during the height of the tourist season - particularly outdoors - is a bit like jumping off a bridge without checking that your bungee cord is properly knotted. So, before it's too late, I'd like to share with you a few of my sure bets:

La Merenda - It doesn't have a terrace and closes for part of August, but this little Niçoise bistro run by former Negresco chef never disappoints. In summer, try the petits farcis (little stuffed vegetables) and deep-fried zucchini blossoms. 4 rue Raoul Bosio (no phone; drop by in person to reserve).

Oliviera - The prices are a little higher than I would like (particularly for the wine) at this olive-oil-centered bistro but the ingredients come from small, often organic farmers and the food is consistently delicious. There are a few tables on the pedestrian street outside. 8 bis rue du Collet, 04 93 13 06 45.

La Table Alziari - Among the tourist traps of the Old Town this restaurant comes as a relief with its simple, honest Niçoise cooking at reasonable prices - save room for the incredible chocolate cake. The dining room could use a little freshening up, but I like the quiet terrace. 4 rue François Zanin, 04 93 80 34 03.

Acchiardo - It's not haute cuisine but family-run Acchiardo makes an authentic salade niçoise and a great soupe de poisson, and the staff are unfailingly polite (which, frankly, counts for a lot). No terrace. 38 rue Droite, 04 93 85 51 16.

La Voglia - Just off the notoriously touristy Cours Saleya, this buzzy Italian restaurant is a sure bet - which explains the line-up every night (they don't take reservations). Portions are huge, so be careful not to over-order. Arrive early if you're hoping for a seat on the terrace. 2 rue Saint Françoise de Paule, 04 93 80 99 16.

La Part des Anges and Vinivore - These wine bars, owned by the same people, are the only two places in Nice where I'm surprised every time at how low the bill is. Simple French dishes are served alongside cheese and charcuterie plates and most of the wines are "natural" or organic. Vinivore has a lively sidewalk terrace. La Part des Anges, 17, Rue des Gubernatis, 04 93 62 69 80. Vinivore, 32 avenue de la République, 04 93 26 90 17.

La Cave de l'Origine - The dynamic Carlo and Isabelle make diners feel welcome in this stylish, red-and-gray wine bar/bistro that also focuses on natural and organic wines. The German chef turns out creative seasonal dishes, and there are also cheese and charcuterie plates. 3 rue Dalpozzo, 04 83 50 09 60.

Flaveur - A young trio who met while working at the Michelin-starred restaurant Keisuke Matsushima opened this contemporary bistro a few months ago, and it has been full ever since. Dinner costs around 50 euros, but there is a more limited-choice Menu Flaveur for 30 euros (and great-value lunch menus). No terrace. 25 rue Gubernatis, 04 93 62 53 95.

Luc Salsedo - This young chef worked at some of the top restaurants along the coast before opening this friendly, ochre-tinted restaurant with a menu that changes every ten days. It's not cheap (the three-course menu costs 44 euros), but the cooking is refined and portions are generous. 14 rue Maccarani, 04 93 82 24 12.

Tags: Nice, Restaurants