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)
21, 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.