Well. On the plus side, on a very quiet Monday evening in summer in Tours, this place was open and had quite a few guests seated. Things started to get creaky when the waiter, oozing froideur, seated us monosyllabicly. "Dehors?" was more of an accusation than a question. Drinks were ordered and delivered promptly (not by him) which perked things up. We ordered, I requested Moules, there were no Moules (the place trumpets its fruits de mer) and without thinking it through I played safe with Poulet Fermier. My wife ordered a large bottle of Vittel to go with her Caeser. The food came, the water did not. Whilst pronouncing the Caser satisfactory, it was deluged with gloop and crowned with the kind of golden crumb chicken escalope only a freezer could supply. At least it was tender, the last time I'd had chicken as aged and tough as the one sat in a pool of ... something, was in a shack in Tanzania where they like their fowl to fight back. Unlike that one, this was lacking taste, definition or indeed, salt. As our waiter friend had failed to place any on the table, I joined my wife, now gasping her way through her sodden salad and desperate after 20 minutes waiting, for that Vittel, searching for our waiter. He was otherwise engaged, giving the cold shoulder to a French couple which at least showed he could be obnoxious without prejudice. Eventually, after listening to a sprightly and inebriated 91-year old ladyloudly proclaim her own Salad Nicoise to be worth "zero,zero,zero" he tried a late save with some acceptable desserts. Too little, too late as his colleague neatly threw an espresso at the guest on the neighbouring table. It's a "no" from us, 2/10. Tours is lovely though!