Ask me where to find some great French food, and I’ll immediately answer, “Liaison.” I’ll even throw in a few words about the restaurant’s cozy, European-style ambience made superb with a lighted fireplace and rustic stone walls. And though technically located downtown, it’s situated on a quiet corner at Fourth and Ivy, far enough outside the bustle so that parking is rarely an issue.

But my effusing hits a Béarnaise mud puddle when it comes to the wait service, which carries more attitude than any fine-dining eatery you’ll ever encounter in Paris. A small team of waiters on board for most of the restaurant’s 11-year history have mastered the art of snobbery toward customers who dare exhibit confusion over the unchanging prix fixe menu, or worse yet, arrive without a reservation regardless of how empty the dining room might be.

For a birthday party a couple visits ago, I called ahead to inquire about corkage fees. Snot flinging began within seconds of the conversation.

“You can’t just show up without a reservation,” exclaimed the person who answered the phone.

“I already have one,” I clarified. “I just want to know if you allow wine to be brought in.”

“Our corkage fee is $15 per bottle. We tolerate it, but don’t encourage it,” he barked before abruptly hanging up.

Call me a masochist because I have dined here on several occasions over the years, although I bid my final adieu after visiting most recently. Consistently, we’ve waited too long after arriving for beverages and wine to appear at the table. The waiters are cryptically distant when taking food orders. And in the case when there were 10 of us at the birthday dinner, the stone-faced staff appeared as though they wanted nothing more than to bitch-slap anyone who requested water refills. By the time each person in that party relayed their intimidating experience to friends, Liaison had effectively lost 20 customers.

Too bad, because the food has never missed a beat. The Chicken Jerusalem, for example, features a savory medley of artichoke hearts and shallots in a heavenly sherry-cream sauce. The Veal Francaise is equally wonderful with its sharply flavored Marsala reduction. And the New York Steak Diane, a longtime favorite, captures the classic French essence of brandy, Dijon and butter.

What I’ll miss most, however, is the restaurant’s French Onion Soupe Gratinèe. The sweet broth, pointed up with fresh sage and toasted Gruyere, seems a prize-winning recipe, which finally led me to ask our waiter for some background information about the chef.

“Is he French? What’s his name?”

I might as well have asked if he had holes in his underwear.

“I don’t know his name,” he replied tersely after admitting that he’s been a server for the restaurant since it opened a decade ago. It turns out the chef is also the owner, and to our knowledge he isn’t some French guy who woos you with a nasally accent. Liaison’s spirit of defensiveness runs curiously high, we concluded.

About the only congenial moments I’ve experienced here is when the flambé cart comes clinking up to the table for a pyrotechnic show of Bananas Foster or Cherries Jubilee. Both are worth the browbeating. Yet behind those big orange flames there is still that look of “I’m-sick-to-death-of-making-this.” And any half-cranked smile the waiter might display at that point likely stems from the fact you’ll soon be leaving the premises.

The prix fixe menu options are ridiculously confusing, yet reasonably priced considering that the food is of high quality. Choose from either a five or six-course package, and then add either $9 or $15 respectively to the main entrée you select. Just don’t get tripped up over the a la carte prices and the two closely identical main-course listings, because it could earn you a seat in the corner with a big dunce hat on your head.