Angelina, founded in Paris in 1903 by Austrian confectioner Antoine Rumpelmeyer, and frequented by the likes of Coco Chanel and Marcel Proust, is now stuck in a department store. Mall dining is never pleasant but this setting is just surreal, a café in virginal white with Napoleon III furnishings right smack in retail hell. Foie gras and Spanish renditions of Crowded House’s “Don’t Dream it’s Over” just don’t mix. Classic dishes share the menu with a short fusion selection. But the recommended Franco-Thai fried snapper fillet with ratatouille and rice would only be acceptable on a THAI economy class flight. For a restaurant, the rice was unacceptably dry, the snapper overcooked and the ratatouille overly tangy. You are better off sticking to Angelina’s bistro French fare like the croque monsieur, a sumptuously cheesy and hearty ham and béchamel sandwich. For dinner, the set menu may look like a steal at B650 for three courses but more disappointments follow. The foie gras salad comes with the tiniest slither of dry, overcooked liver, one artichoke heart cut in two and a forest of greens doused in balsamic vinegar. Then comes breaded chicken with another heap of salad, this time with the proper dressing, vinaigrette, and McDonald’s-esque fries liberally sprinkled with pepper. The chicken breast is fluffy and the breading light, but the Roquefort sauce is spoiled by the addition of mustard: two tastes that overload the taste buds. Thank god for dessert. Angelina was originally a confectionary known for its chocolate artistry, and the hot African chocolate, in particular, is a sinfully rich, creamy and perfectly sweet delight. Just as renowned, Angelina’s Mont Blanc is more of an acquired taste with its rich chestnut puree and thick creamy heart. If you’re an exhausted shopper or an exiled Parisian, a croque and a chocolat chaud might raise your spirits. But venture into the rest of the menu and get ready for a depression even chocolate won’t cure. Corkage B300.