Club Camargue is a paradox. On the inside, it feels like a hermetically sealed train station bistro in Europe. But gaze out from the massive windows on the 24th floor and you have a view of the urban cosmos. The decor calls for elevator-music. Instead, there is Gluck, Scarlatti and Michael Nyman for lunch, and jazz at dinner.
Instead of meat-and-potatoes meals, Camargue serves French and Italian dishes: some originals, some favourites, and always interesting.
A meal can be pricey, up to $500 per person, or a reasonable $165 for the set lunch.
The ultimate paradox is that Club Camargue has remained undiscovered to so many visitors. The clientele is usually haute, in keeping with the cuisine. At night, big groups crowd the 15-odd tables, often celebrating weddings or anniversaries.
The service is casual, friendly and charmingly apologetic when making errors.
I remember one lunch when the dishes came so slowly that I almost missed an appointment, but manager Andrew Smith felt he was doing us a favour.