The Scolt head.

The setting is authentic, and the vivid ambience sounds like a painting of a provencal garden as a paved alley leads to an old front door. The place is halved by the counter where a shiny blonde is drying wine glasses. Wrinkled leathered sofas are disseminated over the place until a large entrance which seems to be restaurant room. I move furtively to the closest divan, the one with the biggest pile of newspaper. The menu is appealing mainly composed of various fish dishes. Prices are common for this place full of character.