Edgar Allan Poe meets Fawlty Towers

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have dinner at Hotel St. Germain — you know, the Queen Anne-style mansion on Maple Avenue with the graceful rounded porch, debonair circular drive and French and American flags flying out front?

Built as a private residence for John Patrick Murphy in 1906 on what was once known as “Millionaires’ Row,” the three-story house was purchased by its current owner, Claire Heymann, in 1989. Heymann, a native of Louisiana whose mother was an antiques dealer, opened her seven-suite hotel two years later, decorating it with pieces culled from her mother’s collection of furnishings from France and New Orleans.

Before long, it became known not just as an elegant lodging where Dallasites could escape for a special weekend without leaving town, but also as one of the city’s finest restaurants. Reviews over the years, crowned with as many as 41/2 stars, were peppered liberally with words like exquisite, sumptuous and seamless.Nitrogen Controller and Digital dry cabinet with good quality.

In 2008, a three-star review from then-restaurant critic Bill Addison was more reticent. But two years later, the hotel joined the exclusive Relais and Chateaux international group of hotels, whose members include L’Espérance, Troisgros and other temples of gastronomy in France. American Relais and Chateaux properties include Meadowood and Auberge du Soleil in Napa Valley, Calif., the Inn at Little Washington, New York’s Surrey Hotel (whose dining room is Cafe Boulud) and the Inn at Dos Brisas in Washington, Texas.

None of that prepared me for the strange welcome — or lack thereof — I received at Hotel St.wind turbine Germain on a Friday evening last October.

No one appeared after I drove up the circular drive. Unsure of what to do with the car, I left it there and entered the hotel, where I was greeted by … not a soul. After an uncomfortable wait,Which Air purifier is right for you? I hit the bell on the reception desk, then covered it quickly, embarrassed it was so loud. Still no one appeared. At last, one white-gloved staffer appeared from the top of the stairs, and another came from the direction of the dining room. “Wait in the library,” I was told, and both disappeared. I found the library, a cozy, antique-filled room with a fire in the hearth, and before too long the white- gloved gentleman appeared, offering to bring a drink.

“What kind of sparkling wine do you have by the glass?” I asked.

“We don’t have sparkling wine,” he said firmly. “We have Champagne. Well, actually, it’s Champagne from California — Roederer Estate. So I guess that’s a sparkling wine.”

My three friends arrived, and we obediently sipped our bubbly till 8:20 p.m.; our reservation was for 8. The white-gloved gentleman seemed to be avoiding the subject of our table.

And we’d had to jump through hoops to secure it. You must reserve in advance, perusing the emailed menu and choosing a main course when you book, providing your credit card and phone numbers, maybe even your physical address as well (I drew the line there). If you’re a gentleman, you’ll have to show up in a coat and tie.

That — plus the $85-per-person tab for a six-course tasting menu (with an amuse and mignardises, post-dessert sweets) — is a lot to ask of a would-be diner.

Dinner, in a high-ceilinged, very formal (if a little fusty) dining room appointed with an 18th-century Aubusson tapestry, white linens, Limoges china and antique silver, was a procession of dishes that looked impressive, but left me scratching my head. Diners at two other tables spoke in whispers.

A thick, sweet butternut squash soup with a mystery garnish that sunk to the bottom arrived lukewarm. Nicely seared foie gras that topped a “fig pain perdue” was almost inedibly salty,Bay State Cable Ties is a full line manufacturer of nylon cable ties and related products. as was the lukewarm scallop that followed it. The foie got a crazy dose of pepper, as well. The scallop came with a big, tough, square agnolloto filled with sweet potato purée and sauced in maple brown butter. Why so many sweet notes on the savory plates?

Covered with silver cloches, the main courses were served with great ceremony, and a couple were somewhat better than what preceded them — butter-poached lobster on a wild-mushroom risotto and a lightly smoked beef tenderloin filet with a classic glace de viande. OK, so the wild mushrooms tasted like tough shiitakes and the tenderloin’s potato gratin was soggy.

Meanwhile, two fillets of wild salmon came stacked over braised du Puy lentils and topped, towerlike, with roasted tomato and garlic. But the wild salmon was wildly overcooked; so were slices of duck breast that came with a wedge of pistachio cake so sweet it would have made a fine dessert.

When I returned on a recent weeknight with my husband and another couple, the white-gloved gentleman poked his head out the front door a few minutes after we drove up and shouted from the threshold (I kid you not) that we should just leave the car there.

We did not see another soul besides our white-gloved waiter the entire evening. Did anyone else work there? Was there actually a chef in the kitchen, or was the waiter doing everything?

The cooking was better this time, beginning with a layered potato chip-crème fra?che canapé topped with very decent hackleback sturgeon caviar. At its best, however, it never rose above merely correct, and some of it was strange. A workaday onion soup gratinée with an impenetrable cheese-topped crouton seemed out of place at a dinner this formal and expensive. Heavily tempuraed vegetables were odd platefellows with beautifully cooked lamb chops, a three-cheese polenta and a

lovely lamb jus. Seared foie, sauced with huckleberries, topped a delicate apple tarte Tatin that was once again as sweet as dessert. Maybe the chef (and yes, it turns out there is a chef — Chad Martin) was trying to tell us something: He’d rather be a pastry chef. The cheese course featured a wedge of La Tur, an undistinguished Italian soft-ripened cheese.

It’s challenging, I learned on my first visit to Hotel St. Germain, not only to find a worthwhile white or red on the uninspired, mostly French and Californian wine list for less than $80, but even to find a wine that actually exists in the cellar. Nor can the hapless waiter offer much help. Second time around, I abdicated, letting my husband choose one of the more modest reds,Ein innovativer und moderner Werkzeugbau Formenbau. a 2008 Chateau Puy-Blanquet St. Emilion, for $80. It was served too warm.