Le Cafe Royale

I feel a bit sorry for Le Café Royale. The foods good bordering on more good (me fail English? That’s unpossible) but it’s tucked away in the sort-​of kind-​of business district of Crows Nest cum St Leonards. So while it probably kills it on weekday lunchtimes with the shiny shoe brigade, the two times I’ve been it was emptier than a cinema showing a Rob Schneider movie and just, well, a little forlorn.
Which is a real shame as the staff are beyond radical, they’re super smiley and love a chat. My sister had her toddler son along the first time we ate here and the manager sat down on the floor and spent five minutes playing with the poopy-​panted little guy just for the sheer joy of it. And when the Persian waitress brought my chai she leant in close and whispered conspiratorially «It’s only my second day and I came in late, but I think I got away with it» and winked at me without any hint of sarcasm. No sarcasm? I’ve eaten in Surry Hills so often I’ve almost forgotten how to deal with such refreshing frankness.
And the curries? Cracking. I seem to be saying this everywhere, but get the goat. Spiced up the wazoo, a serious experience. The menu’s massive too, it’s like reading a deliciously spiced choose-​your-​own-​adventure book.