Called to reserve a table for two, Carol and myself. Voice at other end had a pleasant French accent. Good, we'll be able to exercise what little we know of the language. When we entered the place, I thought we'd walked into an argument. Turned out that the three persons in the entry barroom were only talking; must've been deaf. The table captain took us to a deuce blessedly distant, parlant français en route. That's as much French as we had that evening. Our young waiter addressed us throughout our meal as "you guys." Carol ordered a wine, I an especially tasty brand of Belgian beer that was on the menu. Her wine was delicious, round, with no astringence; the restaurant was out of the beer. I ordered another brand that tasted green, inadequately aged. The bread was flavorless, the butter tightly rationed. Carol's whitefish, la spécialité du jour, was moist and delicious, as was my salmon after I returned it to the kitchen to be heated. Carol was still eating when the waiter started to remove my plate – faux pas. A party of six seated themselves at a nearby table, and despite the restaurant's thick draperies and carpeting, their voices bombarded us; they might as well have joined us. We finished off with a Grand Marnier soufflé, which was marvelous. But all in all, Hexagone n'était pas comme anticipé.

A friend chose this restaurant for her lunchtime birthday celebration. The only other people there were Father Joe Carroll (who I didn't expect to see in a fancy restaurant with white tablecloths), and David Casey Jr, the attorney picked to screen federal judges for President Obama (who I did). My shrimp with pasta, for $13, was fabulous! My friend got fish, after they were out of the first request, quiche lorraine. (I noticed she scraped the vegetables to the side of the plate.) There was lots of delicious bread, and a complimentary creme brulee to celebrate the birthday.