Bouillabaisse, a thin fish soup traducing that noble title, arrives without the billed croutons and rouille. I point this out, the waitress returns with two slices of bread, toasted on one side, dripping with mayo spiked with industrial quantities of hilariously inappropriate dill. French onion soup is underpowered, anaemic. Overcooked pasta arrives in a sauce with the xanthan-gum thickened quality of supermarket bottled jobs. And 'eggs Benedict' with smoked salmon brought scrambled eggs, clumsy slabs of fish, no muffin and, uh, spinach. What the...?