Le Comptoir des Saints Pères

Cuisine de troquet parisien sans intérêt particulier.
Service au diapason.
Par contre le patron nous a compter en plus un plat non commandé et nous a soutenu mordicus qu’il s’agissait en fait d’un report sur l’addition du tarif des boissons.
Bref après plusieurs minutes de palabres nous avons du payer mais né retournerons pas dans cet établissement.

Came here tonight for dinner and a drink on the terrace. The prices were reasonable and my croque madame was delicious! We communicated with our waiter in a mix of English and our limited French – this place might be tricky for tourists who don’t speak any French.

Popped in here after class one day for a cup of coffee and cigarette and decided to move inside since the outdoor lamps left something to be desired. Did not know the Hemingway/​Fitzgerald connection but I can honestly say without knowing that I loved the interior none the less. Felt very classic Paris, like it hadn’t been touched in years. Very cozy and comfortable, it felt like this was a common spot for lunch by Parisians. Café Expresso was affordable, maybe 2 euros if I’m not mistaken and my BLT was amazing. The waiter was very nice, asked me what I was writing about, and was patient with my broken French.
I will say they probably don’t accommodate very well for tourists, but does every place have to accommodate well for tourists?

Street is a bit noisy with traffic and construction, even though it’s on a small street. Food was decent though.

I didn’t know about the Michaud’s/Hemingway/Fitzgerald connection — I just came for the jazz. Every Thursday from around 7, three sets to around 10pm. This is a perfect cool and buzzy environment in which to sit and absorb cool music. The bar is best but seats fill up fast — we even had a homeless guy in for the show — but the back tables are also good. Crammed in tight against mirrored walls, the people-​watching opportunities are excellent. We didn’t eat but saw many good looking meals come to tables beside us — interesting well constructed plates ordered by chic locals. We enjoyed a good bottle of house red that was well above the expected standard for a house wine. The head waiter took a fancy to us and we were so well cared for all night. Can’t wait to return next Thursday — I’ve tried to come here for three years and now I’m on a roll! Four stars for atmosphere, ambience, décor, music, wine and service.

Man. What a terrible place. My brother and I came here only because this was the famous restaurant — Michaud’s — back in the day, where F. Scott Fitzgerald worried aloud to Hemingway about the inadequate size of his penis. Hem took him to the bathroom to examine it. Story is, he assured him it was okay. But maybe he was just saying that to give him some props. It could have been tiny. We’ll never know.
Either way, we came here just to see the bathroom, but we figured we had to order a meal to make that not seem really odd. I also assumed it was somewhat of a tourist attraction but I was terribly mistaken.
The menu had about seven breakfast items on it. We were hungry, so we ordered two each. By POINTING at the menu and saying the items in a perfectly acceptable accent. I ordered a ham omelette and a salmon egg scramble. My brother ordered a bacon omelette and a croissant. The server — a mid-40’s douche — of course pretended that he couldn’t understand what we were ordering.
Oh, does my finger pointing at the item have too much of an American accent? You know what I am ordering.
Well, it took about 30 minutes for it to come out. Locals came in after us and ordered and immediately received their food. I’m sure just a coincidence. When our orders finally came out, here’s what we got: me, a ham omelette (correct) and a bacon scramble (err, no). Brother, a bacon scramble (correct) and nothing else (err, no). The waiter sped off and refused to acknowledge us after that. So I ate my scramble and my brother did not eat his invisible croissant.
It took another 25 minutes to get the bill. Come on dude. Just look at me. Look at me! I want my bill! When I finally was able to ask him — in French — for the bill, please, he still didn’t bring it. It took me standing up and motioning toward the door for him to realize that he was about to receive zero euros for his service if he didn’t give me the efftastic check.
Lastly, there was a small piece of metal in my omelette. No biggie. Just a half inch piece of metal. In my soft omelette.
We came to see a toilet, and we got what we came for.

I’ve wanted to eat at this little corner café for about five years now, ever since I went to school in Paris, and today (¹⁰⁄₂₇) I finally did. Sat at the bar and had an espresso (€ 1.20 — great price for this ‘hood), a nice vegetable quiche with salad (€ 8.90), and then fell for the tiniest lil’ crème brûlée (€ 1.50) which they actually took back on heated up with the blowtorch even though the shallow ramekin was a tad bigger that a US quarter. The bar was a classic brass bar that had to be more than 100 years old and it felt good to have a chance to sit there and watch Parisian life float by. Definitely a good find compared to the ubiquitous € 5 coffee spots in the surrounds. (Great service too and they are patient with l’anglais :))