French cursive and Tuscan sandwiches

Earlier this month, "The Gourmet Shoppe" at 254 Nassau St. — a patisserie shrouded in obscurity — underwent a marketing overhaul. Rechristened the "Chez Alice Gourmet Cafe and Bakery" and spearheaded by a new owner, the gourmet bakery has started courting the hoi polloi of the Palmer Square Area. But are the offerings at Chez Alice just as fresh and inspired as the new location? I stopped by last weekend to find out.

Chez Alice doesn't have the bucolic warmth and yeasty aroma of "The Witherspoon Bread Company." The walls are a cool pastel-green. The breakfast, lunch and coffee specials are written in French cursive in psychedelic pink, yellow and green. Chez Alice clearly wants to be French. The "soupe du jour" this particular Saturday afternoon is a caramelized onion soup with roasted mushroom. They even have an asparagus "quiche du jour," which I declined without too much consideration.

Attired in a Starbucks-green polo and black apron, Katie, the eager assistant manager, is all smiles. She tells me the almond croissant is their most popular breakfast item. Torn between their grilled beefsteak, provolone sandwich and cold Tuscan Eurodipper, I ask for suggestions, and ultimately go with the Tuscan at her prodding. Whisking away the almond croissant, I head over to the closest marble green tabletop to wait while my sandwich is assembled. I find all the green rather cloying, as I am still in need of a detox from Saint Patrick's Day.

Luckily, the almond croissant, as I soon found out, is a well-crafted addition to the lexicon of gourmet breakfast specials. Dusted in confectioner's sugar, topped with almond slivers and baked daily, the almond croissants at Chez Alice are artisanal. Unlike the typical oblong croissant, Chez Alice's are tiered and almost spherical. The smooth almond filling buried inside the doughy fluff is a welcome surprise.

As I am chewing, a crusty French woman speaks up from behind me.

"I see people are working on their thesis," she says in her flowing French voice, as she watches me scribble on my notepad.

"No, I'm really working on a food review," I tell her.

"Oh! And I also see you are eating some delicious food," she says, pointing to the Tuscan sandwich now sitting next to me.

Chez Alice draws an eclectic and impressively European crowd. In the hour and a half I spent eating there and grilling Katie on the pastry process, I heard a mix of German, French, Polish and Italian. Croissant finished, I turned to my Tuscan sandwich.

The Ciabatta is curiously hard and conspicuously dry. When a sandwich is as minimalistic as the Tuscan — made of just salami, ham, tomato, greens and provolone — every ingredient becomes doubly important. But the greens were neither garden-fresh nor of the VIP variety, and the ham and salami were not at their prime. Though the Tuscan comes with a sun-dried tomato and basil dip on the side, the sandwich-and-dip combination feels forced.

Unfortunately, the Tuscan does not appear to be an aberration on the menu. Looking at the lunch menu — from the roasted chicken to bacon and plum salad — nothing seems likely to knock my socks off.

The woman behind the dessert counter tells me I just have to go with their chocolate-caramel pyramid if I like dulce de leche. But what I really want is their Trio, their dark chocolate cake complete with milk, white and dark chocolate mousse. Chez Alice has an extensive selection of mousses, cakes and dense tortes. The House Specialties — the Framboisier, Fraisier and Harlequin— are all cakes, though slightly berry-heavy. I indulge her and order the Pyramid.

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As I walk by, the Pyramid draws an awe-inspired gasp from the woman sitting on the counter next to me. Though aesthetically impressive, the Pyramid doesn't succeed as a dessert. As I crack the outer chocolate casing, an exceedingly viscous caramel mousse oozes out, too gelatinous to really work. The extra dulce de leche drizzled over the mousse is superfluous and the cake at the base of the Pyramid feels too flaccid.

Unfortunately, the Trio dessert only marginally outdoes the Pyramid. Despite the three mousses layered inside, the Trio lacks moisture and the dark chocolate cake is nowhere near as decadent as it could be.

Though the staff at Chez Alice would deny it, the gourmet bakery-cum-café certainly works better as a bakery than a café, as the croissant was superior to any of the other dishes I tried. Chez Alice's shift to Palmer Square is a clear attempt to revamp the patisserie's public image. Chez Alice would in fact make for a refreshing start to the morning. The elevated tabletops, however green, are useful if you intend to cozy up with the New York Times or the Journal. A large single window, designed for the curious passerby, keeps the interior bright. The key to mining Chez Alice's latent potential, however, may lie in rethinking and streamlining the menu.