Where Not to Eat in Paris

Thankfully, I've never heard of this little sh*t hole. What a fantastic piece of restaurant reviewing from A.A. Gill. If this doesn't dent L’Ami Louis' income, nothing will. Here's a sample:

What you actually find when you arrive at L’Ami Louis is singularly unprepossessing. It’s a long, dark corridor with luggage racks stretching the length of the room. It gives you the feeling of being in a second-class railway carriage in the Balkans. It’s painted a shiny, distressed dung brown. The cramped tables are set with labially pink cloths, which give it a colonic appeal and the awkward sense that you might be a suppository. In the middle of the room is a stubby stove that also looks vaguely proctological.