I know this because, after bringing out a menu, the waitress apparently forgot about her solitary indoor guest. She and other staff members yammered in the next room, and trays clinked as one of them returned from serving folks lounging in the garden. But she never returned to my table.

So after about 15 minutes, I started to count things.

A well-trained, professional staff knows the state of every guest at every table in a crowded and boisterous room. The best can recite, at any moment, which group will shortly call for another round of drinks, who is ready for dessert and when to approach that business lunch with the tab. But even rookie wait staff shouldn't forget a lone mathematician.

Such was my introduction to this new café/restaurant, hidden in a drab field-gray building that must terrify occupants of the French Embassy across the square. There are some nods to Francophilic tastes on the menu, such as a pedestrian quiche Lorraine. But the crust fared badly in its battle against time, apparently having spent much of the day in a showcase. Either that or the kitchen purchases chewy, flavorless commercial pie crust and fills it with a substantial mélange, heavy on the cheese. The result is smoky, with some tartness and a nice, mellow finish. Unfortunately, the mixed greens served alongside aged poorly as well, showing flecks of brown around the edges.

Pickled herring is even easier: two thin, gently brined fillets paired with a quite-sour lemon créme fraiche. The sauce beats down sharper elements in the preserved fish, making for a curiously satisfying but all-too-common plate — perfect with an iced vodka, less so against a timid metallic beer.

Only a few items push the boundaries of elementary cooking. One is a rather blasé carrot soup, a basic puree deriving richness from a swath of the now-ubiquitous créme fraiche (as if the kitchen mixes up a batch each day and ladles it into everything) and peppery bitterness from a sprinkle of fresh herbs. The other is a beautiful and mild goat cheese, initially tart with an essential creaminess and a little waft of something like newly cut hay on the finish, warmed on a piece of toast. The rarebit rests on a bed of passable mixed greens glistened by honey. Adding a dabble of sharply sweet dressing transforms mundane lettuce into something interesting and complements the mild, meadowy goat cheese. It's a nice idea, not played out as well as possible thanks to less-than-stellar greens, but worthwhile nonetheless.

Given all that, why did I come away liking this place? They turn out some respectable desserts, such as a whole Williams pear poached in wine, and very good coffee. And despite the first-visit service fiasco (and watching things break down a bit on subsequent visits), I found the staff surprisingly convivial. You feel compelled to forgive their blunders.