By Barbra Austin of Serve It Forth

Les Cocottes de Christian Constant
135, rue St.-Dominique, in the 7th Arrondissement.
Lunch and dinner Mon–Sat. No reservations.

The concept of Les Cocottes de Christian Constant may be a bit of a gimmick, but the food is definitely not. Most everything on the menu is served in cast-iron cookware (“cocottes”) by Staub, which, along with wine glasses engraved with the restaurant’s logo and cookbooks by M. Constant, are displayed on the shelves behind the bar and are available for purchase. I had to wonder, walking into a restaurant full of merchandise, if the chef was also selling his soul.

The answer seems to be no. And even if he were, it would be hard to judge him. Constant has, after all, trained and inspired a generation of chefs, including Yves Camdeborde of Le Comptoir and Thierry Breton of Chez Michel.

Constant’s impeccable kitchen at Les Cocottes, in the hands of Philippe Cadeau, turns out thoughtful, unpretentious food in short order.

Though there’s not a greasy spoon to be found in this modern space of grass green and gray, the long counter and quick pace of the service are reminiscent of an American diner, as are the no-reservations policy and the friendliness of the serveuses with the lunchtime regulars.

It’s a little ironic, then, that the only major misstep I encountered here was “la vraie salade de César Ritz” ("Caesar salad" to you and me), an American invention. It was a gloppy mess of chopped lettuce—no whole romaine hearts here—coated with a thick, bland dressing that lacked any zip of garlic or lemon.

Caesar salad at Les Cocottes.

No matter. Have a Bourgogne aligote from the short wine list and start with pumpkin soup instead. If a salad is in order, skip the Caesar and choose the poached egg and lardons, a copious pile of mixed greens topped with a trembling white cloud waiting to be pierced. Keep it simple with a plate of jambon Ibaïona from pork legend Eric Ospital, or try the more elegant langoustine ravioli.

On the main side, the sizzling, fall-apart-tender chicken fricassee with olives and lemon confit was a standout, smelling like a warmer and sunnier part of France. Seared scallops paired well with faintly bitter braised endive and an orange butter sauce that brought to mind a creamsicle. There is likely something for everyone here: a lamb cocotte, a pigeon cocotte, a seasonal vegetable cocotte for those who don’t eat meat. Though it’s refreshing to see so many vegetables on a Paris menu, the decidedly non-vegetarian cocotte of caramelized potatoes with pig’s foot stuffing will be my default dish on future visits. It’s the kind of thing that makes me sigh and say, “I love France.”

Desserts are straightforward. The waffle with salted butter, caramel and whipped cream is solid if a bit boring (order the half portion!), but Constant’s fabuleuse chocolate tart is an all-but-guaranteed crowd-pleaser. Kind of like the restaurant itself.

Price check: First courses are in the 8 to 15 euro range. Mains run from 14 to 24 euros.  

In a nutshell: A fun and breezy address with reliable food and no price gouging, Les Cocottes handily solves the “where to eat near the Eiffel Tower” dilemma.

If it’s Sunday and Les Cocottes is closed: see what Constant’s most famous protégé, Yves Camdeborde, is doing at Le Comptoir du Relais, where lunches and weekend dinners are no reservation. (For the special weeknight dinners, booking is imperative and all but impossible.)

Le Comptoir du Relais
9, Carrefour de l’Odeon, in the 6th.
01 43 29 12 05.

By Meg Zimbeck

Le Verre Volé
67, rue de Lancry, in the 10th Arrondissement.
01 48 03 17 34. Open every day for lunch and dinner.

Le Verre Volé is a shoebox-size wine bar along the banks of the Canal St.-Martin. Its name means “the stolen glass.” I don’t know about the missing stemware, but I can attest to having lost many other things at this joint, including cash, moderation and my natural wine virginity.

Colorful tables are crammed into a space that’s likely smaller than your living room. The walls are lined with shelves and shelves of wine. You’ll sit so close to your neighbor (a young sommelier, a local actor, a tango instructor) that conversation will be unavoidable.

There are two kinds of evenings at Le Verre Volé. The first is composed of dinner, wine and intimate conversation. The dishes are selected from a chalkboard menu that changes with the seasons. Using nothing more than a couple of toaster ovens, the “cooks” here turn out starters like brandade de morue (salt cod and potato purée) with purple artichokes, or a salad of ripe heirloom tomatoes from Annie Bertin. Main dishes are hearty, often involving a sausage of some sort (the Caillette Ardéchois is my favorite) on a bed of mashed potatoes. Wine is selected from the surrounding shelves, usually with the help of an amiable waiter. Bottles go for significantly less than what you’d pay at most restaurants, but with a 7 euro corkage fee. Because this place is informal, it’s possible to share many plates and a bottle and escape for less than 25 euros per person.

The second kind of evening chez Stolen Glass ends with chairs on pushed-back tables and some manner of debauchery. I have seen tango dancing at Le Verre Volé. I have seen a visiting American break-dancing on the floor (pictured below). I have stood at the counter, long after the exterior gate has been pulled down, and finished off bottles of Who Can Remember with a Metallica-loving sommelier. This wine bar is a magic spring of random Paris adventure.

Regardless of what kind of evening you’re up for, be sure to book a table in advance. Le Verre Volé may be casual, but its tiny size and immense popularity make reservations a must.

Price check: Starters run from 6 to 10 euros, and main dishes cost around 11–14 euros. You’ll find bottles of wine at every price point (10–300 euros), with a corkage fee of 7 euros.

In a nutshell: This casual wine bar near the Canal St.-Martin is great for both relaxed and (later) rowdy evenings. There’s an impressive selection of natural (and conventional) wine, plus small nibbles and more substantial mains. Le Verre Volé is open every day and usually full—be sure to book.

If you like the sound of Le Verre Volé but prefer more elaborate cooking:

Les Papilles
30, rue Gay-Lussac, in the 5th. 01 43 25 20 79.
Open for lunch Tues–Sat. Closed Sun–Mon.

By Meg Zimbeck

Creamy endive soup spiked with piment d’Espelette.

Les Papilles
30, rue Gay-Lussac, in the 5th Arrondissement.
01 43 25 20 79. Open for lunch Tues–Sat. Closed Sun–Mon.

I panicked, on a recent winter night, when some friends asked me to organize a dinner. Choosing a restaurant is something that I usually enjoy, but the guests for this particular occasion were a couple of chefs. And not just any chefs, but senior chefs working in three-star restaurants.

My anxiety subsided as soon as I remembered Les Papilles. This homey little spot near the Jardin du Luxembourg is a favorite among food and wine insiders. I think it’s something to do with the simple and honest cooking, the well-priced wine selection and the likability of owner Bertrand Bluy.

Bottles of wine, priced from steal to splurge, line the walls at Les Papilles.

Bluy worked for years as a pastry chef (Fauchon, Troisgros) before opening his own place under a refreshingly simple banner: “des beaux produits traités simplement et de bons vins . . . C'est tout, on n’est pas là pour se prendre la tête!” Bluy’s mission—to serve beautiful products, prepared simply, with good wine and without frills—makes Les Papilles a place that’s enjoyed by both big spenders and budget travelers.

The core of any experience here is the no-choice prix-fixe menu “retour du marché.” For 31 euros, diners all experience the same starter, main dish, cheese and dessert. Our recent meal began with a generous pitcher of creamy endive soup poured over a mound of croutons and smoked ham spiked with piment d’Espelette. It continued with fork-tender beef cheeks, braised in red wine and served from a gleaming copper casserole. For cheese, there was Fourme d’Ambert (a mild blue) paired with a fat and sticky prune, and we finished with pineapple panna cotta topped with caramel emulsion.

Tender beef cheeks braised in red wine.

Bottles of wine, ranging from steal to splurge, are selected from wooden shelves that line the restaurant walls (corkage 7 euros). While it’s possible to order by the glass, I don’t know anyone who does this. Les Papilles is the place to come when you want to drink a great bottle without the normal restaurant markup.

Price check: The prix-fixe menu “retour du marché” is one of the best values in town, offering four no-choice courses for 31 euros. Even cheaper is the stand-alone “marmite” option for 16 euros—that’s the same main dish but without any padding.

In a nutshell: Bertrand Bluy’s restaurant near the Jardin du Luxembourg is a homey, low-fuss place to enjoy market cooking and great wine. The menu changes regularly but offers no choices, so this place isn’t for picky eaters. Wines by the glass and bottles ranging from sweet to stratospheric.

If you like the sound of Les Papilles but prefer to have some choices on the menu:

Le Verre Volé
67, rue de Lancry, in the 10th.
01 48 03 17 34.

By Meg Zimbeck

Le Cantine de Quentin
52, rue Bichat, in the 10th Arrondissement.
01 42 02 40 32. Open for lunch Tues–Sun. Closed Mon.

I love bringing visitors to the Canal St.-Martin. This waterway in the 10th Arrondissement has in recent years become a magnet for hip and artsy Parisians. Good cafés and restaurants have been popping up around the water’s edge, and edgy boutiques for clothing and jewelry can be found not far away. After a morning spent exploring (one that’s usually fueled by pastry from Du Pain et Des Idées), I almost always stop in for lunch at Le Cantine de Quentin. This sweet little place is open only during the day and performs triple duty as a restaurant, cave à vins (wine shop) and épicerie.

The lunch menu is short and sweet, with about six choices for each category of entrée, plat and dessert. I habitually begin with one of their homemade veloutés, whose ingredients change with the seasons. A creamy pumpkin soup topped with grilled chestnuts was just perfect on a recent winter afternoon. Hearty starters like the country terrine and charcuterie plate are more sharable.

Duck confit topped with a parmentier of creamy mashed potatoes.

The main dishes change often but tend to be rich and comforting. I’ve loved the roast chicken with potatoes au gratin, the duck confit topped with a parmentier of creamy mashed potatoes and the tiny ravioli du Royans in a bubbling cheese sauce. Vegetarians can look to the house sautée of seasonal vegetables—a colorful plate that’s made sinful by copious shavings of aged parmesan.

Although I’ve never managed to save room for dessert here, the crème brûlée with mango has provided some serious temptation. Instead of gorging, I usually select a takeaway treat (like a mind-blowing Zaabär chocolate bar) and nibble it while strolling along the banks of the nearby canal.

Price check: entrées range from about 7 to 13 euros, with mains from 13 to 16 euros. The Cantine sells affordable wines by the glass but also allows you to select a bottle from one of the hundreds lining their walls. Count on spending 25 euros for two courses and a glass of house wine, and more if you want to splurge on a good bottle.

In a nutshell: Le Cantine de Quentin is the tastiest lunch table near the charming Canal St.-Martin. Come here for comforting French classics and some serious eye candy—walls that are lined with hundreds of bottles and tasty takeaway food products.

If you like the sound of Le Cantine de Quentin but need something that’s open at night:

Les Papilles
30, rue Gay-Lussac, in the 5th.
01 43 25 20 79.

By Meg Zimbeck

Chocolate tart with bay leaf ice cream.

L’Office
3, rue Richer, in the 9th Arrondissement. 01 47 70 67 31.
Open for lunch Thurs–Fri, and for dinner Tues–Sat.
Closed Sun and Mon.

The area around Grands Boulevards has suddenly (and surprisingly) become cool. This major thoroughfare, not far from two landmark department stores, used to be nothing but chains. In recent years, however, a handful of hype restaurants has put this neighborhood back on the foodie map. Among these, Racines and Passage 53, tucked inside the Passage des Panoramas, are the most well known. But another relative newcomer—named after a place that I try to avoid—has begun to establish a following. I revisited l’Office this week and was reminded of why I loved it the first time around.

To begin, the waiters are adorable. Young and hip—wearing smiles and just enough facial scruff—my friend and I were putty in their hands. Did we want a sparkling Vouvray to begin? Absolutely! Sipping our bubbles, we admired the decor and made plans to transform our own apartments with strategically placed antlers. The taxidermy, when combined with retro lighting, moleskin banquettes and funky wallpaper, created an enviable retro-funky atmosphere.

The menu made for an easy decision—with only two options for each course, we ordered one of everything. Not every plate was perfect, but each one featured some sort of interesting surprise. Unraveling the flavors in every dish became a game. Were those scallops smoked? Did I taste brussels sprouts in the bright green pesto? Was that bay leaf in the ice cream? These dishes were bold (if sometimes a bit unbalanced) and definitely fun to eat.

We reserved for a late dinner and were delighted to look up, sometime after 11 p.m., and notice that the place had become a wine bar. After the tables had emptied out, a group of 10 friends was gathered around an equal number of bottles at the bar. This place is fun.

Price check: entrées are about 8 to 10 euros, with mains from 16 to 19 euros. For three courses at dinner, plan to spend around 35 euros. For wine, you can splash out with a glass of Lassaigne champagne for 10 euros, or play it cheap with a carafe of house wine from 18 to 22 euros. The thick wine list has plenty of other options to suit every budget, including a number of good vins naturels.

In a nutshell: Despite the buttoned-up name, l’Office exudes casual charm. It’s an addition to the restaurant scene around Grands Boulevards, with stylish decor and playful food for a fun-loving thirtysomething crowd.

If you like the sound of L’Office, you might also like:

Frenchie
5, rue du Nil, in the 2nd. 
01 40 39 96 19.

By Meg Zimbeck

La Gazzetta
29, rue de Cotte, in the 12th Arrondissement.
01 43 47 47 05. Closed Sun and Mon.

Located in a bustling market neighborhood behind Bastille, La Gazzetta has been a favorite for several years. With soft lighting, leafy palm trees and polished dark wood, this beautiful space would be a hit among the local bobos no matter what was happening in the kitchen.

The output of that kitchen, however, reveals that La Gazzetta is aiming to be much more than a neighborhood bistro. Their choice to install an avant-garde Swedish chef behind the stove attracted plenty of first-year media attention. Since that time, Petter Nilsson's cooking—often inspired and always eclectic—has helped establish La Gazzetta as a destination for food adventure.

What do I mean by eclectic? Well, my most recent meal opened with a white orb floating alongside some cardoons in a broth that had been spiked with sweet Cévennes onion and mullet roe (pictured below). The voluptuous yolk, when I broke into the poached egg with my spoon, mingled beautifully with the anise-scented cardoon, and the bite was either earthy and sweet or briny and sharp, depending on how many fish eggs I managed to capture. I've seen cardoons in Italy and in the South of France (where Nilsson previously worked), but I've never had the pleasure of eating this delicious weed in Paris.

This starter was part of a six-course menu that also promised raw beef with parsnips and purslane (another weed), cod with salsify (yet another weed), veal knuckle with raw sea urchin and verbena, a suckling pig with rancio, and a dessert tarte composed of bergamot and Mont d'Or. I was thrilled, when I first laid eyes on that menu, to realize that I had very little idea how these dishes might taste.

The good news: they tasted great—at least to somebody at the table. Each person in our group could name one dish that she didn't love, but this varied and provided much wine-fueled discussion fodder.

Speaking of wine, the list is solid and generous. Both of our bottles, despite the fact that they were each priced under 25 euros, earned star treatment from the staff—a chilly bucket for the white and a classy decanter for the red. Small touches like this have made each of my visits to La Gazzetta feel special, even if the bill screams "affordable bistro." About that bill: one can opt at dinner to have five courses for 38 euros or seven courses for 50 euros. Our group of four ordered two of each format and shared bites of the "bonus" dishes. With two bottles of wine, the total came to (an extremely reasonable) 55 euros per person. I can't think of anywhere else in Paris where I can sample seven dishes, guzzle half a bottle of wine and enjoy that level of service for under 60 euros. The lunch menu is radically different (more comfort, less provocation), but a trip-worthy steal with two courses at 16 euros.

In a nutshell: La Gazzetta is a sexy space that's just perfect for a date, assuming that you've wisely selected a date who will eat absolutely anything. Don't expect to be familiar with every item on the menu—this place is like school, but more delicious. Polished service and affordable wine.

If you like the sound of La Gazzetta but want a bit more bustle:

Le Chateaubriand
129, ave Parmentier, in the 11th.
01 43 57 45 95.

By Meg Zimbeck

Le Bistrot Paul Bert
18, rue Paul-Bert, in the 11th Arrondissement.
01 43 72 24 01. Closed Sun and Mon.

My first meal at this restaurant took place many years ago, during my second-ever visit to Paris. I was lucky enough to be staying with friends who lived in Paris and loved to eat—friends who knew about special places like Le Bistrot Paul Bert. Memory is patchy, but a few first impressions have stuck with me: the warm and sweetly worn decor, the generous cooking and the delightful absence of other tourists.

Years later, shortly after moving here, I met a woman at a party who turned out to be the food editor for Time Out Paris. I asked her, as I'm sure everyone does, to recommend one really special place that I could afford. After a moment of appraisal (in which she might have seen that I was both eager and broke), she decided upon Le Bistrot Paul Bert.

Those early visits were a real challenge for my French because, aside from steak frites and a few other classics, the menu was packed with dishes that I had never heard of. I remember flipping fervently through my French-English food glossary—printed from Patricia Wells's site in the smallest possible type—trying to translate the nose-to-tail fare.

My French may have improved over the years, but their affordable carte continues to stump and amuse. A recent visit required the putting together of several foodie heads to decide that hure de cochon might be some sort of jellied hog's head terrine (it was), and that a croustillant de groin de cochon could be crispy-fried pig snout. Complemented by sturdy offerings like andouillette and foie de veau, the menu here begins to look like quite the barnyard extravaganza.

But this bistro has another, more luxurious face. The menu also proposes a plate of eggs—their sunny-side yolks showing a blinding shade of orange—bathed in luxurious black truffle cream. The elegant veal dish presents a substantial pavé rising like an island from a sea of creamed morels.

The wine list includes a good number of sturdy and affordable reds, but you'll also find some surprising vins naturels and other small-batch treasures. Our wine friend lit up when she discovered the aptly named Piège a Filles (lady trap) from Les Capriades (26 euros). It was pétillant and absolutely perfect with our desserts of Paris-Brest and tarte tatin.

A final note on strategy: the prix fixe menu offers three courses for a very reasonable 34 euros, but portions are huge. My thick steak topped with marrow and served with a side platter of fries could have fed three people. In addition to a plat for every person, our group of five shared three starters and two desserts. Reducing the quantity let us splurge on supplements (truffles cost more) and drink really good wine. We were still over-stuffed.

In a nutshell: For those who are sincere in their desire to taste classic bistro fare, there are few places better than Le Bistrot Paul Bert. Dishes range from comforting to refined, and service can sometimes be brusque. But the portions are generous, the prices are easy and a whiff of "authenticity" is still hanging in the air. Reservations are a must.

If you like the sound of Le Bistrot Paul Bert but want a bit more left-bank polish:

Itinéraires
5, rue de Pontoise, in the 5th.
01 46 33 60 11.

By Meg Zimbeck

Chez la Vieille
37, rue de l'Arbre Sec, in the 1st Arrondissement.
01 42 60 15 78. Sat: dinner only. Closed Sun.

I first learned about this tiny bistro from Hungry for Paris, that excellent book of bedtime stories by Alexander Lobrano. He recounts, in his review of Chez la Vieille, his first encounter with the namesake old lady (the long-retired Adrienne Biasin), as well as the things (classic dishes, cheek pinching) that came from her hand.

My first meal there was memorable for reasons that had nothing to do with the food. The evening began with a visit to (the soon-to-be) Spring restaurant on the rue Bailleul, where I found the construction site overrun by models and wolves. As the fashion shoot was winding down, Daniel Rose proposed a late dinner across the street. He punched in the door code (required to gain entry), and we walked into a time machine that took us 40 years into the past. I tried to keep my mouth closed as I took in the scene: faux wood paneling on both the walls and the bar . . . a clock that would not have been out of place at my grandparents' country club in South Dakota . . . and Juliette Binoche.

When we sat, an avalanche of hors d'oeuvres—thick terrines, rémoulades and other anachronistic fare—arrived at our table. The spread and the interior matched the loving description by Lobrano, but the rest of the meal was mildly disappointing. The sautéed liver and near-perfect gratin were both satisfying, but my sea scallops came dressed in a sauce that was nacho-cheez orange and tasted of salt. As much as I was endeared to the decor, I wasn't planning to hurry back for the food.

Then last week Lobrano himself invited me to go. How could I say no to a rematch with the man who wrote the original inspiration? He was visiting for the third time since the kitchen had been taken over by Michel del Burgo (see Lobrano's more detailed and enlightening review here). Because the new chef had done time at Le Bristol and Taillevent, the evening promised to include Serious Food.

Entering the "new" Old Lady's Place, I saw that the decor was exactly the same—ugly, dated and utterly charming. The gastronomic experience, however, turned out to be completely different. In place of the heavy terrines (and other hors d'oeuvres, which were nowhere to be seen), the first edible offering was a light-as-air gougère. The finesse continued into the first course: seared foie gras with caramelized edges resting on a bed of "forgotten vegetables," and a mushroom ravioli wearing a blanket of thick black truffle (top). The momentum held while we devoured our mains—two common proteins treated with both wit and technical precision. On my plate: an elegant take on beef Stroganoff with thick cream, diminutive mushrooms and a side of onion gratin. Across the table and slightly less to my liking: grilled scallops overtaken by white foam (what is this, ZKG?) with fresh hazelnuts and endives. We finished with dessert—a passable moelleux and a surprising licorice-scented panna cotta—and then we finished again with two glasses of Vieille Prune.

As much as I enjoyed the meal, it must be said that del Burgo's cuisine, which is smart, precise and playful, seemed a bit out of place in this old-fashioned space. That's not necessarily a bad thing—I for one was charmed by the disconnect between dining room and dinner. It doesn't bother me (in fact, I love it) when a single night lets me touch both truffles and a faux wood toilet paper holder. My Kansas upbringing may have something to do with that, but Binoche seems to love it too.

In a nutshell: Smart and modern French cooking against the backdrop of an endearingly dog-eared dining room. Nostalgia never tasted so good. Count 60–80 euros for three courses, and be sure to ask for the door code when you reserve.

If you like the sound of Chez la Vieille but want a more bustling scene:

La Tour de Montlhéry (Chez Denise)
5, rue des Prouvaires, in the 1st.
01 42 36 21 82.

By Meg Zimbeck

Ze Kitchen Galerie
4, rue des Grands-Augustins, in the 6th Arrondissement.
01 44 32 00 32. Sat: dinner only. Closed Sun.

Ze Kitchen Galerie is a restaurant that I avoided for many years for one simple and superficial reason: that name is stupid. The faux-French pronunciation . . . the dual-purpose (food/art) pretension . . . I can barely think about it without rolling my eyes.

But perhaps there's another reason for my tardy arrival at the door of chef William Ledeuil: his reviews were, and still are, very mixed. More than perhaps any other restaurant in Paris, ZKG divides its diners into fans and full-on haters. After two recent visits, once for lunch and once for the dinner degustation, I find myself (surprised to be) counted among the fans.

I suppose that puts me in good company, along with superfan John Talbott and the folks at Gault Millau, who named Ledeuil their 2010 chef of the year. Here's what we like: Ledeuil's marriage of Far Eastern flavors and traditional French ingredients is unusual in this city. Beyond simply being "interesting," Ledeuil's conceptions also taste consistently good. Much of that has to do with flawless execution (during my two visits, at least) and high-quality ingredients. I've never tasted a dish that wasn't properly cooked and freshly in season. That level of cooking, combined with the polished service and Seine-side location, makes ZKG a great choice in many situations.

A few illustrative dishes:

A richly flavored bouillon with foie gras and winter vegetables.

Rabbit ravioli with Thai herbs, pistou-arugula condiment and yuzu kosho jus.

Bouchot mussels, razor clams, Obsiblue shrimp and shellfish-lemongrass broth.

It's important to note that ZKG is not right for every situation. Ledeuil's Asian fusion (look, it's lemongrass!) will not impress New Yorkers (or any city dwellers) in the same the way it pleases the provincial Parisian palate. Well-traveled gastronomic adventurers may find his acrobatics a bit passé (especially when priced at 70 euros). But not every performance need be a revolution. I enjoy ZKG because the food is delicious, not because it teaches me something new.

In a nutshell: Head into Ze Kitchen to taste William Ledeuil's marriage of French and Asian flavors. The modern and polished dining room is just steps away from the Seine, making it easy to pull off a postprandial stroll along the water. The experience isn't cheap—count 70 euros for the dinner degustation and 30–40 euros for lunch.

If you like the sound of Ze Kitchen Galerie but want to spend 20 euros less:

Ze Kitchen Galerie Bis (KGB)
25, rue des Grands-Augustins, in the 6th.
01 46 33 00 85.

By Meg Zimbeck

Chez Michel
10, rue de Belzunce, in the 10th Arrondissement.
01 44 53 06 20. Closed Sat and Sun.

In a city with so many incredible restaurants to try, repeat visits are a sure sign of love. Until this week, I could count on one hand the places to which I've returned more than three times: Spring, Frenchie, l’Avant Comptoir, Le Baratin and the crêperie Josselin. Chez Michel, the Breton bistro near Gare du Nord, has just joined the ranks and forced me to open a second hand.

My fourth visit on a frozen December evening was nearly perfect. Having arrived early, I waited for my friend with a glass of Cerdon—a sparkling pink wine that's rarely seen in restaurants (6 euros). The extra time was devoted to studying both the printed menu and the lengthy chalk-drawn list of specials.

Chez Michel is a single restaurant with many different ways to dine. The foundation of any experience is the prix fixe menu, with three courses for 32 euros. It includes plenty of good pork and seafood options, with eight starters, six mains and seven desserts. You could stick to the plan and be very happy with a good fish soup and a stellar brandade de morue, plus the famous 36-hour Paris-Brest dessert. I don't know anybody who does this.

Most people fall victim to the Board of Temptation—a dangerous chalkboard full of dishes that can be substituted for an additional price. Such supplements can be found on prix fixe menus all over town, but Chez Michel takes the concept to another level. Instead of offering one or two slightly special ingredients for a modest 4–5 euro supplement, Chez Michel has a board filled with at least 25 incredibly special dishes with supplements ranging from 5 to 120 euros. The vast majority are dishes rarely seen anywhere else, which makes it very easy to stray from the prix fixe.

My meal was a fairly typical mix of moderation and splurge. I stuck to the menu for my starter and loved the aigre-doux de choux rouge au lard rôti—sweet and sour cabbage with a fat slice of smoky bacon. I struck out with the main and ordered sea scallops (pictured below) for a 10 euro supplement. Served in the shell with algae butter and a celery root puree, they were both comforting and refined. I also picked up an 8 euro surcharge for my dessert—a creamy Vacherin Mont d'Or cheese (pictured at top), sized for two and served warm inside its wooden box, to be eaten with a spoon. With the Cerdon, my half of one very reasonable bottle of wine (a Cheverny Villemade for 26 euros) and un petit calvados to finish (3 euros), my bill came to 64 euros—exactly double the price of the prix fixe.

Now let's talk about the guy next to me. A small-framed older gentleman, he arrived alone but was well known to the staff. I almost gasped when his starter arrived—the tartine of foie gras topped with a mountain of shaved truffles was almost the size of my forearm (supplement: 26 euros). He polished it off quickly, washing down the luxury snack with sips of artisanal beer. What arrived next was something I'd read about but never seen—a bowl full of tiny and rare baby eels called civelles (supplement: 60 euros). He then went on to eat a mountain of biche (female deer, supplement: 25 euros) for his main dish, to be followed by dessert. It was one of the most impressive dining performances I've ever seen.

Like I said: a single restaurant but with many different ways to dine. A moderate eater can be perfectly happy with the standard three-course 32 euro menu. A gastronomic god disguised as a grandpa can splurge on rare and expensive treats and spend more than 160 euros. Most people end up somewhere in the middle, and most everyone leaves happy. Those who are less pleased tend to be English-only tourists who don't understand the concept (a 32 euro minimum with three obligatory courses) or become frustrated when the staff fail to properly translate the long list of changing and obscure ingredients. Those who are less fluent should bring a dictionary and a sense of adventure.

In a nutshell: Come to Chez Michel for classic Breton fare—heavy on both seafood and pork dishes—and well-sourced luxuries available as a supplement to the 32 euro menu. The long list of (25+) specials has plenty to tempt the adventurous foodie, including an excellent selection of wild game during the season. Grandmotherly decor with friendly service, steps away from Gare du Nord.

If you like the sound of Chez Michel but want to take your supplements farther south:

La Régalade
14, ave Jean Moulin, in the 14th.
01 45 39 71 54.

By Meg Zimbeck

Le Baron Rouge
1, rue Théophile Roussel, in the 12th Arrondissement.
Tues–Thurs, 10 a.m.–2 p.m. and 5–10 p.m.
Fri–Sat, 10–10; Sun, 10 a.m.–4 p.m.

As a young person growing up in Kansas, I couldn't imagine anything more disgusting than raw oysters. They seemed slimy, stinky and squirmy—why would any sane person want to pop one in her mouth?

I managed to avoid the mollusk until I was 25 years old, when I was confronted by a raw bar at a friend's wedding. Trying to fit in at this chic affair, I swallowed my inhibitions and a couple of oysters. To my surprise, I didn't die. I ate oysters a few more times while living in Boston, but never with much enthusiasm.

That all changed when I moved to France, where fresh oysters during winter are part of the culture. There are more huîtres consumed here than in any other country—around 130,000 tons per year. The majority are pried from gleaming seafood platters in polished restaurants and brasseries. But my favorite place to eat them is on the hood of a parked car.

If you've ever been to Le Baron Rouge, the bustling wine bar near the Marché d'Aligre, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. During the cold months, a vendor drives up from the Atlantic coast to sell his huîtres here on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Customers crowd around his sidewalk table to select their preferred size of Arcachon Cap-Ferret before heading inside to search out a glass of chilly muscadet. Prices are easy here—a half dozen on the half shell will run between 5.50 and 9 euros.

For those who can't snag a seat indoors—and there are only a handful of tables and upturned-barrel surfaces—it's back out to the sidewalk for the slurp and sip. On crowded mornings, stacks of crates are topped with wood to become makeshift tables. Friends balance their glasses on the tops of recycling bins. And every parked car within 20 feet becomes a counter.

While the atmosphere is 80 percent of the attraction, the oysters themselves are simply delicious. They're served without fuss—just a bit of lemon and a slice of bread—as befits something to be eaten while leaning against a truck. The accompanying wines are sourced directly from producers and sold for low prices both by the glass and by the liter (for takeaway).

I credit the bustling scene with distracting me from my fear and helping me grow to love the oyster. The weekend oyster feed at Le Baron Rouge is a tradition that you shouldn't miss while visiting Paris in the winter.

In a nutshell: Plastic plates piled high with raw oysters, eaten on the sidewalk or inside the bustling wine bar. Great wines by the glass, and a selection of charcuterie and cheese for the seafood averse. The oyster man appears on Saturdays and Sundays in winter only, but the wine bar is fun throughout the year.

If you like the sound of Le Baron Rouge but want to slurp near St.-Honoré:

L'Écume St.-Honoré
6, rue du Marché-St.-Honoré, in the 1st Arrondissement.
01 42 61 93 87.

By Meg Zimbeck

La Cantine du Troquet
101, rue de l'Ouest, in the 14th Arrondissement. No phone and no reservations.
Mon–Fri, opening at 8:00 p.m.; closed Sat and Sun.
Arrive at opening time for your best chance of being seated.

It's been more than a year since my last visit to La Cantine du Troquet. Since that time, I've told countless friends that this informal Basque resto is among my favorite spots. Still, it's been hard to find my way back to this southern corner of Paris, which lies three subway lines away from my nest in the 19th. I suppose I was also afraid that it wouldn't be as good as I remembered.

That meal last winter was a revelation. I arrived at opening time (8:00) with two boys and ordered more food than is really polite. We shared and devoured nine plates, starting with some fat white beans and sliced gizzards and a pucker-inducing goat cheese with piquillos. We also nibbled bravely on the pig ear salad.

We smiled through a rascasse and some pleasing seared scallops, then came close to stabbing one another with forks to get the last bite of the poitrine de porc. Served with a side of well-salted and crispy frites (magically refilled throughout the night), this belly was by far the winning dish of the night/week/season.

We finished with a slice of tarte, some sautéed peaches and a bit of Basque brebis with black cherry preserves. We also consumed two liters of wine and a round of coffees. At the end of the night, we walked (OK, staggered) away, having spent less than 40 euros each.

I returned last night with a girlfriend and the intention of restraint. I had the idea that one could eat well here for a mere 20 euros. I still believe that this can be done. Just not by me.

To fend off the bitter cold of the December night, we both started with soup (6.50 euros). As seems to be the trend these days, two bowls of garnish (toasted pine nuts and buttery crumbs) were served with a pitcher of soup on the side. And by pitcher, I mean an enamel goddess that poured six bowls full of warm delicious.

Grilled razor clams (8 euros) arrived next and were a nice change after our creamy cauliflower bath. The bowl was overflowing, but we made quick work of the couteaux and cleared a path for the coming lomo (14 euros). This dry-cured pork loin was lovingly lathered in a sauce spiked with piment d'Espelette. To avoid the oncoming coma, we opted for salad (7.50 euros) instead of dessert. Of course, it was topped with half a pound of creamy Roquefort.

The meal was a delight—every bit as good as I remembered—and our 30-euros-per-person tally included an absurd amount of food and a liter of wine. The more reasonable man sitting next to us dined solo on oeufs mayonnaise (4.50 euros) and that delicious lomo, bringing his own bill to under 20 euros. I may not be able to hit that magic number myself, but I can attest that other, more moderate souls have done it.

In a nutshell: La Cantine du Troquet is a generous table where you can eat and drink big for 30–35 euros or with restraint for around 20 euros. Safe choices like roasted chicken and steak frites coexist with more adventurous nose-to-tail preparations. Informal and buzzing, with friendly service and a very local clientele.

If you like the sound of La Cantine but want to spend more and have a proper reservation:

Le Troquet (the mothership)
15, rue François Bonvin, in the 15th.
01 45 66 89 00.

By Meg Zimbeck

Thoumieux
79, rue St.-Dominique, in the 7th Arrondissement. 01 47 05 49 75.
Open every day, 12–3 p.m. and 7–11 p.m.

Today's restaurant isn't exactly a "current fave," but it's most certainly au courant. The foodie blogosphere is now buzzing with talk of Thoumieux, a left bank bistro with a locally famous chef.

After a stint at the Crillon's three-star restaurant, chef Jean-François Piège has brought his star power to this classic spot near Invalides. His culinary credentials, combined with the cachet of a Costes family partnership, have made Thoumieux an overnight success.

A recent Sunday lunch there began beautifully: my approach from the subway included views of both Invalides and the Eiffel Tower. The abundant staff (I encountered a valet, a doorman and three hosts within the first 30 seconds) were surprisingly friendly. At the table, we were immediately greeted with good bread, Bordier butter and salmon rillettes. We settled in to sip our moderately priced wine and take in the decor of velvet booths, art deco mirrors and gilt everything. The Costes have never been accused of subtlety.

My starter arrived—a dish of calamari prepared à la carbonara. The long ribbons of squid were joyfully tender, and the overall flavor was spot-on delicious. This beautiful dish—rich with smoky pancetta, plenty of cream, and yellow yolk—was both the best thing I'd eaten all week and the last good thing I would eat that day.

The plates that followed, on both sides of the table, were sad affairs: dried-out hunks of flesh that no cook of any talent should ever send from his stove. The veal that I ordered is easy (for a lesser kitchen) to overdo, but how exactly does one manage to dry out a pork belly?

Dessert was better, but still fell into the dreaded category of "overpriced and half-assed." If this were a moderate bistro, I'd cut my losses and be grateful for the carbonara. But with prices at 75 euros per person (with wine and coffee), I think we can expect a little more from chef Piège. One dish does not a restaurant make.

In a nutshell: Hit Thoumieux on a Sunday when somebody else is paying for you to eat two servings of squid carbonara.

For other equally disgruntled reviews, check out Alec Lobrano, John Talbott and The Paris Kitchen.

If you don't like the sound of Thoumieux but still want art deco on a Sunday: Try Le Vaudeville. This little treasure box near the Bourse is thought to have some of the best brasserie food around. It's shiny and polished like Thoumieux, but with a little more substance.

Le Vaudeville
29, rue Vivienne, in the 2nd. 01 40 20 04 62.
Open every day until 1 a.m.

By Meg Zimbeck

Tartes Kluger
6, rue du Forez, in the 3rd Arrondissement. 01 53 01 53 53.
Mon–Sat, 10 a.m.–8 p.m.; Sun, 11 a.m.– 4 p.m.

I began to wonder, while sitting at the communal table and trying to fork the last stray strands of an arugula salad, could Tartes Kluger be the most bobo meal I've ever had?

Before I continue, let me define that term. The word "bobo"—a contraction of “bourgeois” and “bohemian”—is one that we use often around these parts. It was coined by David Brooks to describe a new sort of upper class who "grow affluent while remaining opposed to materialism," who "live amidst commerce while admiring art and intellect" and who "cultivate ever finer tastes about ever more simple things."

My experience began when I learned about Tartes Kluger from Le Fooding, a primary source of continuing education for our local bobo community. While watching the website's video cooking series on my laptop (from a café equipped with Illy beans and Wi-Fi), I was seduced by the simplicity of Kluger's carrot and coriander tart.

The day of my visit happened to coincide with a hopping brocante (flea market) on and around the rue du Forez. The Bugaboo strollers were backed up for blocks behind stands selling vintage "decorative tools." I escaped into the restaurant's loftlike space to find two old friends waiting for me:

Two American food mags touting the simple pleasures of (local, sustainable, seasonal) eating . . . I mean, seriously—how bobo is that? I ordered my tart and began to flip through the pages while my neighbors discussed the upcoming ventes privées (private sales). Then lunch arrived: an individual tart with salad in a gleaming metal bowl. I ate carefully to avoid dribbling on the final issue of Gourmet.

The tart—an incredibly simple combination of crust and eggy filling—was one of the best I'd ever had. Of course, the full-size version is something that any French woman could assemble for less than 5 euros. But who has time to cook? Modern bobos are more than willing to pay 9 euros for a small bite, and 25 euros for a party-size tart. Madame Kluger and her minions will even deliver.

I capped my experience with a visit to the art gallery next door, but others might prefer a trip to the design bookshop on rue Dupetit-Thouars. Either way, it's a perfectly bobo afternoon in the beating heart of bobodom.

In a nutshell: Tartes Kluger produces delicious tarts for takeout and delivery. They also serve a great and girly lunch with a side of cooking magazines.

If you like the sound of Kluger but want more quirk:

Le Loir dans la Théière
3, rue des Rosiers, in the 4th.
01 42 72 90 61.

By Meg Zimbeck

Hidden Kitchen
Email hkreservations@gmail.com to reserve. Secret address (somewhere in central Paris) revealed after reservation.

Supper clubs—also known as underground restaurants and speakeasies—have been popping up in cities all over the world. In Paris, there’s only one place to get the experience.

Braden and Laura are a couple of young Americans who met and fell in love, with both food and each other, while living in Seattle. After Braden finished college, they moved to Paris for what they thought would be a short stay. To continue cooking (something they did regularly but not professionally in Seattle), they decided to start a supper club. “We thought it would be a good way to make friends,” said Braden.

The requests came pouring in after Clotilde Dusoulier, an early guest, wrote about them on Chocolate & Zucchini. That was certainly where I learned about them. I booked a spot during their second week of suppers and was astonished to find myself rubbing elbows with foodie gods David Lebovitz and Dorie Greenspan. “This is gonna be fun,” I thought to myself while sipping my aperitif of Lillet Blanc and angling for a seat next to the superstars.

Fun it was, and also delicious, visually stunning and (I can admit it) drunken. Wine pairings are included for each of 10 courses, and in the early days they left the bottle on the table. That strategy was soon revised, due in no way to our behavior, I’m sure . . .

Word got around quickly, and Hidden Kitchen was soon being mentioned in blogs and mags on both sides of the ocean. What Braden and Laura had imagined as a casual fling was quickly becoming a real, if still secret, affair. Fueled by word-of-mouth praise and rave reviews (like this one from Girls’ Guide blogger Zeva Bellel), they’ve been able to host twice-weekly dinners for more than two years.

So why does everybody seem to love it? Well, who doesn’t like a good secret? Booking Hidden Kitchen is a titillating process—an online negotiation culminating with an address that’s revealed only days before the dinner. The journey to their door, whether one comes from the Louvre or through the Palais Royal, is another form of foreplay. Crossing the threshold into their apartment, with its immense and beautifully appointed dining room (molded high ceilings, marble fireplace, and so on . . .) is a privilege for visitors who don’t often get to see the inside of a real home.

And then it begins: coats off, drink in hand, conversation with 15 other food enthusiasts and course after course of surprising and lip-smackingly good food. The menu changes regularly, but here’s an idea of what to expect (taken from a recent dinner, on November 14):

Sunchoke soup with brown butter pear jam & sunchoke chips
Crispy broccoli with buckwheat groats and white cheddar
Sea bass with garlic lime nage and sausage-stuffed mussels
Veal meatball with house-made linguine, candied lemon, and truffle butter
Pork belly with walnut salsify puree and pickled chilies
Brussels sprouts salad
Manchego cheesecake with quince sorbet

The dishes are paired with wines specially selected by Juan Sanchez, owner of the left bank wine shop La Dernière Goutte. In addition, you’ll have an aperitif and amuse-bouche to begin, a mint julep–themed cleanser in the middle and homemade petits fours and coffee after dessert.

By the end of the night, you’ll have gained three pounds, killed a few hundred brain cells and hopefully made a few new friends. All this for 80 euros!

In a nutshell: Reserve well in advance for an inspired dinner, free-flowing wine and the chance to make new friends in a beautiful Parisian apartment. Hidden Kitchen is ideal for solo travelers and couples who want to take a break from quiet evenings. Highly recommended.

By Meg Zimbeck

Passage 53
53, Passage des Panoramas, in the 2nd Arrondissement. 01 42 33 04 35.
Closed Sun–Mon.

I’ll admit it: I had low expectations for Passage 53. This newish restaurant inside the city’s oldest covered passageway has drawn very mixed reviews. A number of eaters I trust have been disappointed here. Other palates had been pleased, but their measured compliments never moved me to pick up the phone.

Then my boyfriend, who wanted to celebrate a new job, asked to go. I’m not one to shy away from spending money on food, but the idea of shelling out 200 euros for mediocrity was honestly filling me with dread. Nevertheless, I made a same-day reservation and tried to keep an open mind.

It was one of the best meals I’ve ever had. Here’s why.

The product is impeccable. We expect this from a place that’s owned by Hugo Desnoyer, the butcher whose name is scribbled on source-savvy menus all across town. The butter is Bordier, the oysters Gillardeau and the veggies, of course, are Joël Thibault. These are the things I will long for if ever I’m forced to leave France.

Star ingredients do not themselves make a meal. In other provenance-crazed restaurants (Les Fines Gueules, Racines, Cou de Poule . . .) they turn in a solid and respectable performance. Under the direction of P53’s chef, they shine. Ballsy combos, complimented by near-perfect technique, coax the best from each element.

Take the dish in the picture (above), for example. This is arguably the best veal in the capital, paired with some of the best raw oyster in the world. In another restaurant, either element would likely stand on its own. Putting them together is a bold move—one that frankly doesn’t sound or look appealing—and the taste is shockingly good.

Another winning dish: a perfectly seared piece of calamari on a bed of almond and cauliflower cream with shaved flakes of raw cauliflower on top. It looks innocent (the all-white presentation) and tastes anything but. For game nuts, there was a saddle of rabbit cooked sous-vide and presented with a dark chocolate sauce. It was a heady combination and visually stunning on the plate.

And speaking of chocolate, the demi-tart that they presented with a scoop of very coffee ice cream had the thinnest crust I’ve ever seen in my life. I took a post-bite photo as evidence. Really, wow.

And that dessert wasn’t even my favorite! The pear ice cream with candied celery blew my mind (again).

At dinner, there are degustation menus at both 60 and 80 euros. With four glasses of wine (each), including a lovely Jacquesson champagne, our tab climbed to 248 euros. At that price, this isn’t an everyday sort of place. But for a celebration? Absolutely.

In a nutshell: Hit Passage 53 for a special splurge, and you’ll be delighted by the controlled daring and near-perfect technique using France’s best ingredients.

If you like the sound of Passage 53 but want to spend 100 euros more:

L’Arpège
84, rue de Varenne, in the 7th.
01 47 05 09 06.

By Meg Zimbeck

Rice & Fish
22, rue Greneta, in the 2nd Arrondissement. 01 73 70 46 09.
Lunch: Mon–Sat, 12–6; Dinner: Thurs–Sat, 7:30–11.

"You have to go," said my very pregnant friend. "I've been twice in one week."

"For sushi?" I replied, with a skeptical eye directed down at her belly.

I'd been hearing a lot about Rice & Fish in recent months, but it wasn't until my pal admitted to putting her fetus in danger that I decided to make the trip. Anything that could cause an expectant mother to throw caution to the wind must be awfully delicious.

I arrived at this Sentier spot and immediately liked the space—bright colors on the wall and a long window seat with a view of the neighborhood scene. On the menu: a long list of interesting maki, including lots of vegetarian options. I guess the pregnant friend isn't so reckless after all . . .

I started with Le Krunchy, a roll that normally combines avocado, secret sauce and tempura shrimp. They substituted scallops on this particular day, much to my delight. The first roll looked enticing, tasted exciting and was even fun to say.

More spectacular was the Sumo roll—an unlikely combination of tempura pumpkin, pumpkin seeds, violet potato, miso and fennel. It packed such a technicolor punch that my next roll, futomaki (tofu, avocado, radish, cucumber), seemed wan by comparison. Next time—and there will be a next time—I'll be sure to begin with the delicate flavors and finish with over-the-top tastes like the b4 (tempura fish with piment d'Espelette) and La Chenille (marinated eel and avocado shaped in the form of a caterpillar).

In a nutshell: Hit Rice & Fish when you need to take a break from French food. The bright and clean flavors will hit the reset button on your over-bistroed palate. Your wallet, too, will feel the relief—a full meal will run you less than 20 euros.

If you like the sound of Rice & Fish but want less CAL and more JAPAN:

Kaiseki
7, rue André Lefebvre, in the 15th.
01 45 54 48 60.

By Meg Zimbeck

L’Avant Comptoir
9, Carrefour de l'Odéon, in the 6th Arrondissement.
No reservations. Open every day.

Last night marked my fourth visit to l’Avant Comptoir in just over a week. This new wine bar is nowhere near my apartment, so why am I returning again and again?

It’s the ham. To be precise, it’s the deep-fried ham croquettes. Made with jambon Ibaïona d’Eric Ospital (Iberian ham from a legendary producer), these little nuggets are like eating, as the Frenchman next to me observed, “une caresse.” Priced at only 3 euros for a stack of three, they represent the cheapest love on sale in the French capital.

Those who prefer their ham without breading will be delighted by the legs swinging from the ceiling. The salty jambon corse mingles with its Basque and Bigorre cousins above a stash of spicy chorizo and Andouille béarnaise. Order up a planche and then help yourself to the freshly baked bread, Bordier butter and cornichons that are lined up on the counter.

Speaking of the counter, I should mention that this place is only a bar with standing room for about 12 people. You’ll start as strangers, but hours of pressing close and tasting one another’s ham will likely turn you into friends. Last night, for example, our countermates invited us to their apartment next door to finish the evening with a 1963 Armagnac. Yes, it’s that kind of place.

Beyond the pork (and the duck neck, and the grilled scallop, sigh…) offerings, vegetarians have plenty to love at l’Avant Comptoir. There’s a lovely Breton artichoke served whole for dipping into silky olive oil, and the grilled cèpe (porcini mushroom) is a minor miracle.

Their wine list is short with plenty of inexpensive treats. I like to begin with the bubbly Mauzac Nature and continue on to the Côtes de Gascogne (2 euros a glass!). And I always make my way over to the magnum of Morgon at some point—it’s just perfect with the ham.

Adding to the appeal, l’Avant Comptoir is open every day, with service continu and a takeout window selling sandwiches and crêpes. I may have to relocate to the 6th . . .

To read more about this new crush and the man behind it (Yves Camdeborde), check out these posts from the Paris Kitchen, Dorie Greenspan and Serve It Forth.

In a nutshell: Hit l’Avant Comptoir for a snacky apèro, or camp out at the counter and make a night of it (even on Sunday!) by sharing rounds of tapas with friends and strangers.

If you like the sound of l’Avant Comptoir but want to stay on the right bank:

Le Garde Robe
41, rue l’Arbre Sec, in the 1st, near Métro Louvre-Rivoli.
01 49 26 90 60.

by Meg Zimbeck

Table 28
28, rue de la Tour d’Auvergne, in the 9th Arrondissement.
Reservations: 06 42 87 79 64.
Open now for dinner Wed–Sat.

Until recently, one of the most delightful (and difficult to reserve) tables in Paris had been Spring restaurant. Tucked away on a side street in the 9th Arrondissement, this shoebox-size resto (French slang for restaurant) was adored by everyone from French critics to visiting foodies. It was hard to find fault with Daniel Rose’s four-course market menu for under 40 euros, and it was difficult to dislike the young American, who pitched in to serve plates and ask each table if everything was delicious. Spring closed its original doors in August and plans to reopen next March around the corner from the Louvre. The new digs will include a vaulted cave (wine cellar) with a walk-in wine bar and highbrow snacks to soak up the champagne. It will also be around the corner from Spring Boutique, set to open in November, with an array of hand-selected products such as wine, charcuterie, honey and maybe even hot dogs.

In the meantime, those of you who want to get in on the Rose action can head back to the rue Tour d’Auvergne. Rose reopened his original location this weekend but under the banner of Table 28. To create a new “rusti-chic” neighborhood place, Rose has ripped out the Spring kitchen and installed a gleaming rotisserie grill. Dinner for now is Coucou de Rennes (a prized Breton chicken) with potatoes au gratin and veggies roasted in the drippings (oh yeah). Including dessert, prices run 29 euros for a quarter chicken portion and 35 euros for a half bird. Don’t expect the program to stay the same, though—Rose plans to roast a whole cochon de lait (suckling pig) on Thursday night and who knows what the following week. Prices will hover at or below 35 euros per person, but will vary depending on the offerings of the day.

As a little bonus, Rose is also offering a takeout option for Table 28, with family-size portions (a whole chicken and sides, for example) for just over 50 euros. This will vary according to the day—call the number above to learn about the possibilities. Those who can’t make it at night or just want a quick bite should stay tuned for news of lunch service (sandwich de porcelet—a very young milk-fed pig) beginning next week.

In a nutshell: Hit Table 28 for high-end comfort food in a sleek and modern space. Menus for 35 euros and under made from prestige ingredients and touched by the hand of a foodie god. This place is new, but word will spread quickly so be sure to reserve in advance.

If you like the sound of Table 28 but can’t afford the tab, try:

Churrasqueira Galo
69, rue de Dunkerque, in the 9th.
Near metro stop Anvers.
01 48 74 49 40.

by Meg Zimbeck

West Country Girl
6, passage St.-Ambroise, in the 11th Arrondissement. 01 47 00 72 54.
Open for lunch and dinner Wed–Sat. Tues: lunch only. Closed Sun–Mon.

I’ll admit it: the humble crêperie is one of my favorite places in Paris. The food is affordable—usually less than 15 euros for two courses—and the eating is easy. Nothing goes down better after a night of heavy wine “tasting” than a ham-egg-cheese complète. What’s more, the rough decor and the brusque charm of the waitresses remind me of old-time American diners.

Despite all this, I don’t often recommend crêperies for traveling foodies. These places, at least the traditional ones, are tricked out in lace and dark wood paneling. They feel like Grandma’s house, especially if your grand-mère is a sturdy Breton lass with loads of butter at the ready. Crêperies are comforting and cute, but they are most certainly not cool.

At least, that used to be the case. The landscape shifted recently when West Country Girl arrived on the east side of Paris. I suggested the new crêperie for a lunch with Catherine Sanderson of Petite Anglaise, and was relieved to see that the early reviews were right: this place is refreshingly cool. Stylishly retro, the banana yellow bar and cherry laminate tables are balanced by muted decorative painting from Olivia Marie-Debackere. There’s a revolver mounted over the stereo, which is piping a mix of Beirut and other indie darlings. Nick Cave, whose song inspired the restaurant name, is undoubtedly in the mix.

A friendly German hipster-waitress helps Catherine and me sort through the menu options. We both go for the lunch special, at 12.50 euros, which includes a complète, a dessert crêpe and a healthy dose of artisanal cider. The first crêpearrives and is exactly as it should be: thin, dark and crusty on the outside (a lot like Nick Cave) with oozing (organic) ingredients inside. The subsequent dessert crêpe is slicked with caramel beurre salé—the salted butter caramel that makes everything right in the world. We finish with Illy coffee while debating whether the cute boys next to us are in a band or not.

In a nutshell: Hit West Country Girl for carefully made crêpes with a side order of indie cool. The retro-styled space is just around the corner from the bars of Oberkampf, making WCG an affordable launching pad for a night of east-side debauchery. Either that, or a hangover lunch.

If you like the sound of West Country Girl, you’ll also love:

Breizh Café
109, rue Vieille du Temple, in the 3rd.
Near metro stops St.-Sébastien–Froissart (line 8) and St.-Paul (line 1).
Closed Mon–Tues.
01 42 72 13 77.