Through name changes and revamping of menus, despite the surly greeting the hotel desk affords you, even with the disinfectant smell accompanying you down the narrow stairway to its entrance. Entre Nous hangs on. Inside, the black patent leather seats gleam, tiny lights sparkle, and the glittery air survives an unfortunate abundance of artificial flowers. Two soft-spoken women serve with gentle attention that makes up for a lot. Unfortunately, the defects of the food are more than the service can compensate for. Quite the opposite of most French restaurants, Entre Nous presents an imaginative menu and some superbly cooked vegetables; its desserts, too, can be quite good. But they have to compete with seviche that has started to ferment; rockfish with shrimp mousse in a puff pastry, dry and strongly fishy smelling; and baby lamb stuffed with mushrooms, goose liver and herbs in a crust, which in reality is very tired bits of lamb with soggy bread stuffing in a rather nice - but burned - pastry case. Only the veal scallops were palatable, and they were served in a too-sweet sauce, supposedly veronique, with grapes that had their seeds left in them. If one could dine on asparagus, potato puffs and nougatine mousse, dinner at Entre Nous could be a delicious occasion.