Maison Du Soleil

Maison du Soleil, a cozy enclave nestled snugly against local titans like Costa, may seem like an appealing haven for those seeking a quiet bite or a steaming cup of caffeine nirvana. Stepping through the door, you’re met with the enchanting scent of freshly ground beans and the hum of cheery chatter that floats out over the neatly arranged tables both inside and on the patio. The patisserie stands, lavished with delicate treats, beckon invitingly. However, what unfolds is a tale reminiscent of an independent film: charming beginnings entangled by lackluster execution.

Encountering service here is akin to stumbling upon a misstep in an otherwise graceful ballet. On more than one occasion, patrons are cordially instructed to return to their seats outside, assured fledgling orders will arrive promptly—a promise that seems lost in translation as intermittent staff discussions add unscripted sound effects to the ambient acoustics. Although such hiccups might dampen the spirits of some travelers, redemption comes by way of indulgent chai latte, capturing at least a glimmer of culinary solace. Simple acts of penmanship by a frazzled but earnest waiter or waitress occasionally surface to assuage its weary audience, promising Maison du Soleil could—potentially—rise from these tempestuous trials to embrace the warmth of its radiant namesake. — Clarissa Cuisinier