Small, warm, a bit rowdy. My first instinct was to call it a pub. It isn't. @thefrenchexit is a proper Parisian bistro, which is the closest thing France has to one, so I was at least in the right postcode.
It sits on the corner of Mary and Edward in the CBD, inside a heritage-listed warehouse. Old floors, butter-yellow walls, tan leather banquettes, a cool bar. The room is doing real work. Bistro, through and through.
I did the right thing and settled in with a glass of champagne. Perrier-Jouët, my usual. A good start is a good start.
The starters were all strong. The chicken liver pâté éclair was the winner: rich, silky, finished with a pickled cherry that was a clever addition. I know how pretentious it sounds to call a pâté éclair my kind of comfort food, but that is exactly what it was. The barbajuan, a fried pastry stuffed with ham, was solid. So was the toasted brioche with yellowfin tuna.
At this kind of place I would normally order the steak frites. But the chicken came highly recommended by friends and then again by the staff, so I said yes please. It was good. Nothing wrong with it. A small part of me regretted not ordering the steak.
We balanced it with the fish. Oh so buttery. Excellent.
Finally, we finished with a crème brûlée and a tasting flight of French cognac. I had a pretty good time.
The staff made the night. Warm, chatty, up for a proper conversation. Once they figured out we were up for it, they leaned all the way in. That is the kind of service that makes a meal feel whole.