Locations in West Orlando

In the world of the Hard Rock corporation, waitresses are encouraged to lead lives tantamount to those of rock stars. I should know; I used to work there. The company was so insistent on their cozy star status that they psyched employees into believing that working there equaled partying with stars every night. That was 10 years ago. Today, Hard Rock is all grown up and offers a place not to party with celebrities, but to eat like them.

The Kitchen is tucked away on the bottom floor, near the pool, of the chic Hard Rock Hotel. Walking in, the first thing one sees is a sleek modern kitchen offset by a bar, which is really a chef's table. That one sliver of the expansive dining room alone feels like the cooking quarters in a dream home - which is exactly the Hard Rock's intent.

"The hotel is designed to look like a rock star's mansion," the PR rep tells me. "The kitchen is where he'd go to whip up a late-night snack."

Just like its famous sister restaurant, Hard Rock Café, The Kitchen is decked out with kitschy memorabilia, but here rock & roll meets culinary utensils. Who wouldn't at least glance at the oddity of a spatula signed by Mike Love from the Beach Boys? Or a black chef's jacket with leopard-print trim made exclusively for Joan Jett? When a cheese grater was presented to us at the beginning of the meal, it took a minute to figure out that it was actually a menu for the specials. Even the tables are made of stainless steel countertops like those found at stove-side workstations.

By all means, bring the kids along. One of the best things about The Kitchen is that there's something for everyone. The food is largely of the comfort variety, and there are family favorites with trendy twists. Macaroni and cheese ($10.25) is made with Spanish manchego; fried calamari ($9.95) is served fusion-style with Asian slaw and Thai dipping sauce; filet mignon ($24) is drenched in delicious Argentinean chimichurri sauce. But there's no need to waste all this good food on the chicken-tender specialists. The Kitchen has a buffet just for the younger generation that is stockpiled with pizza and other kid-friendly delights. Not only that, but there's a rec room dedicated to their needs, as well. While you're civilly nibbling Asian vegetable rolls ($7.95) and conversing about the world at large, the kids can crowd around colorful games and toys, devouring fries from special TV trays.

At times, not enough care is taken with some components of this otherwise tasty menu. The bacon on the iceberg wedge ($7.95) was so overcooked and salty that I felt as though I was chewing on jerky. Two pieces of tuna on the plate of charred ahi seemed to come from different fish, one a princess of the sea and the other her evil stepsister. I was not impressed with dessert: We tried s'mores and bread pudding, both too big and way over the top.

Among the tasty adult selections, I tried the crab cakes ($9.95), two fresh discs of sweet crabmeat tenderly fried and served alongside golden corn bread and clever Old Bay rémoulade. Peanut-crusted chicken wings ($8.95) were served in a pail with the longest celery sticks I've ever seen. The presentation was cute, but unfortunately the pasty layer of Buffalo barbecue sauce was cloying. The seafood chowder ($15.95) was excellent, bursting with grouper, shrimp and scallops; the rich, creamy sauce still allowed the taste of delicate leeks and corn to shine through. Likewise, a plate of charred ahi tuna ($23) allowed both rich and light flavors to work in harmony. A sesame rice cake was not overpowered by wasabi cream and pickled ginger, but enhanced by the tangy sharpness.

At The Kitchen, you may not brush elbows with rock stars, but you are certainly eating in surroundings that make you feel like one yourself.

Amid a bustle of pre- and post-pubescent mallrats, a Greek man is boldly bringing a French delicacy to the masses. Some say they're wussy pancakes; some say ça c'est bon, but either way you flip it, crepes are a street-food staple and Konstantinos Chilias, aka chef Dino, is griddling at the chance to find converts in the Sunshine State. Sure, a food court isn't the most likely place to find a creperie, but when you think about it, it makes sense. Indoor street fare is essentially what food courts serve up, and Dino's brand of delicate made-to-order flappe-jacques are worthy of a traipse into the Orlando Fashion Square Mall fray.

Leafing through the menu, I was struck at the number of sweet and savory crepes ' nearly 70 are offered. Even by Parisian standards, that's an impressive amount, but what really impresses is that quality doesn't suffer as a result. 'Mall foodâ?� and 'qualityâ?� are often thought of as being mutually exclusive, but the friendly Grecian is doing his part to alter that perception one gourmet crepe at a time.

Ushering in this new era in food-court dining has taken chef Dino halfway 'round the globe, from humble beginnings hawking crepes on the thoroughfares of Paris in the early 1980s to owning and operating cafés on the Greek isle of Rhodes, in Long Beach, Calif., and, most recently, in Ybor City. Odd he would choose a mall in Orlando as his next conquest, though he admits his ultimate plan is to open a storefront café downtown or in Winter Park.

Yearning for a light meal on my initial visit, I opted for 'La Creperie Special� ($8.25), a creamy mélange of mushrooms, spinach, tomatoes, green peppers and caramelized onions enveloped by a slightly crisp whole-wheat crepe. Every fromage-filled bite satisfied, accompanied with Dino's fresh-squeezed, though lip-pursingly sour, lemonade ($3.75), and I couldn't help but feel sorry for the folks lining up at Sbarro and JJ's Cajun.

Vegetarians can have a field day here, no doubt, but I have to say I enjoyed the chicken-filled 'La Parisâ?� ($8.25) even more; it balanced perfectly the flavors of feta, spinach and roasted red peppers. On another visit, I sampled the 'turkey a la brieâ?� ($7.50), which proved to be my favorite. Layered with square slivers of turkey, diced tomato and gooey brie, the dish is made magnifique by Dino's secret cream sauce.

It took me awhile to decide on a sweet crepe, but I eventually settled on the 'Marie Antoinetteâ?� ($7.25) with Nutella, banana, strawberries and Baileys liqueur. The batter, made with fine baker's flour, is properly brushed around a hotplate, resulting in a light, ultra-thin pancake. Watching the cook prepare my indulgence, I noticed the bananas he used were overripe, the peel nearly black. Then walnuts were sprinkled into my crepe, after which I realized they weren't making a Marie Antoinette at all. What I got instead was a decent enough sweet crepe, but the miscue brought to light some of the service deficiencies apparent when Dino isn't present (usually on weekends). The staff, sans Dino, can get a bit out of sorts when serving two or more customers at a time; on this occasion they mixed up my order, forgot the 'Berry Appealingâ?� smoothie ($4) I ordered and forgot to charge me for dessert.

On another visit, Dino himself prepared the classic crepes suzette (known here as 'Madame Suzette,� $7.75), and though a flambé failed to materialize, the crepe was everything I hoped it would be: a buttered and sugared crepe drizzled with Grand Marnier, splashed with fresh lemon and orange juice, folded into a triangle and drizzled with more Grand Marnier.

Since the demise of Maison des Crepes in Winter Park, crepeheads haven't had a venue in which to satisfy their cravings. But chef Dino is as determined as King Leonidas to change that, and I wouldn't be surprised to see one of his stand-alone creperies open in town sooner than later.

But for now, we dine in (mall) hell.

Claude and Chantal Wolff’s unassuming cafe on the fringes of Dr. Phillips may not conjure up images of enjoying lattes and croque monsieurs on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, but it won’t conjure up images of pouty, mustachioed servers dishing out attitude along with the chocolate croissants either. The Wolffs are so genuinely charming and exuberantly welcoming that you’d think they’re out to single-handedly undo France’s reputation for brusque, splenetic service.

Claude, it seems, takes it upon himself to personally greet every customer, while Chantal, though somewhat limited in her proficiency of the English language, perpetually beams as she preps soups, sandwiches and salads behind the counter. The French quarters here are cramped: The handful of tiny tables can sometimes make for a near-mob scene, and the tables outside fill up quickly. But there’s good reason for it – the savory sandwiches.

Le Café de Paris’ secret lies in the baguettes, which Claude flies in daily from a small village in his home région of Lorraine. So whether you opt to layer your baguette with ham, Swiss cheese, lettuce and tomato (as in the croque monsieur – $5.95), or with butter, brie cheese and tomato (as in the Le Parisien – $5.95), it’s really hard to go wrong. The pan bagna chicken ($6.50), a livelier version of the chicken salad sandwich with black olives, is so named because the bread (pan) is usually bathed (bagna) in olive oil, but because many patrons here don’t have a palate for huile-dressed bread, Chantal will only brush the oil on by request. I enjoyed the enormous sandwich, which was cut into three filling diagonals, but I would’ve preferred a side of potato salad instead of a bag of Lays potato chips.

Though the quiche (as well as all tarts and pastries) is prepared by a good friend of Claude’s, the outsourcing hasn’t affected the taste any. The fluffy core of eggy quiche Lorraine ($5.50) is accentuated with bacon and ham and walled by marvelous crust. Vegetarians will enjoy a more intensely flavored version with spinach, broccoli and cheese ($5.50), but if you’re up for a high-caloric intake, the tartiflette ($5.50) with potato, eggs, bacon and cheese will disprove the claim that real men don’t eat quiche.

Chantal’s salad du jour ($6.95), on this visit a Niçoise-like salad sans hard-boiled eggs, was a humdrum assemblage of green beans, cucumbers, black olives, onions and thin tomato slices with a dollop of canned tuna occupying the core of a large plate. Tomato bisque ($3.95), though a tad salty, was perfectly rich and creamy, while chicken soup ($3.95), with its pungent oniony broth teeming with carrots, celery, thick noodles and morsels of chicken, proffered one comforting slurp after another.

I’ve always been partial to chocolate croissants ($1.90), and the flaky rectangles served here are buttery indulgences. The only issue I had with the crème brûlée ($3.38) was the consistency – more runny than custardy – but the wonderful essence of vanilla bean had me scooping the bowl clean. The flaky peach tart square ($4.50) would’ve been better served warm, a request I later realized I could’ve made. A thick chocolate chip cookie ($1.50) goes well with any of their espresso-based coffees, which Claude is more than happy to refill au gratis should the mood strike him.

In France, I quickly learned that conversing in the native language, or at least making an effort, resulted in pleasant experiences and favorable outcomes. At Le Café de Paris, a similar approach may tip the balance in your favor, though the Wolffs are so affable, they seem to extend their hospitable generosity to just about everyone.