By Barbra Austin of Serve It Forth

Les Pâtes Vivantes
46, rue du Faubourg-Montmartre, in the 9th Arrondissement.
01 45 23 10 21.
22, blvd St.-Germain, in the 5th.
01 40 46 84 33. Lunch and dinner, Mon–Sat.

“You saved our lives,” said a friend in New York, just back from a trip to Paris. “We got sick,” she continued, “and that noodle place was exactly what we needed.”

The noodle place in question? The 9th Arrondissement's Les Pâtes Vivantes.

I had given her some addresses—she and her boyfriend work in restaurants—where I knew they could eat well, but when they got to Paris they found themselves severely under the weather. In case you didn’t know this, a bowl of brothy noodles cures everything.

I first read about Les Pâtes Vivantes on David Lebovitz’s blog (I imagine many people did!) and was excited at the thought of a new noodle joint to replace the less-than-stellar place I frequented on rue Ste. Anne in the 2nd.

Most of the restaurants on that street are, of course, Japanese. Over in the 9th, Les Pâtes Vivantes—though far from the established Chinatowns in the 13th and Belleville—is Chinese, and their specialty is hand-pulled noodles. It’s worth a visit just to watch the noodle cook toss, roll and stretch a piece of dough, transforming it from a shapeless ball into yards of thick cream-colored string.

The noodles (9–12 euros) are served sautéed or in soups, with vegetables, shrimp, chicken or pork. My favorite is the spicy Szechuan beef, with thin pieces of meat floating among the slippery noodles in a slightly piquant broth, garnished with fresh cilantro and scallions. I say “slightly” because this is Paris, after all, and the Parisian palate is not so tolerant of heat. I also like the nouilles à la sauce chajiang—tender pork, bean paste and soybeans in a barbecue-like brown sauce, garnished with celery leaves, carrot and more cilantro.

Spicy Szechuan noodle soup with beef.

At lunch there are formules available at 11 or 12 euros, which include an unremarkable little salad and a choice of appetizer: tempura or jiaozi, a.k.a. “ravioles grillés,” a.k.a. pot stickers. It’s worth it only if you are exceptionally hungry.

A few rice dishes are offered, but after seeing the noodles made right before your eyes, you'd be remiss not to order them, don’t you think?

The two-story space is perpetually crowded with locals on their lunch break and youngsters on a budget. Though minimal, the room (like the food) is a few notches above most noodle shops. The service is quick and friendly enough, and if you find yourself waiting a long time for the check, it’s because the check is actually waiting for you at the cashier’s counter. It’s likely that someone is waiting for your table, too, so be considerate and clear out.

One more thing—the exquisite table skills shown by the French don’t go very far with chopsticks. The way to eat Chinese noodle soup is with two hands: hold the chopsticks in your dominant hand and the spoon in your other. Pick up the noodles with the chopsticks and support the load with the spoon. Lean your head over your bowl to minimize the risk of dropping everything in your lap or splattering, and slurp away. It’s bad luck to break the noodles.

The last thing you want is to have bad luck in Paris.

Price check: If you spend more than 20 euros here, you are doing something wrong.

In a nutshell: This is Chinese food that is a cut above, a perfect spot when you realize that man (er, girl) cannot live on foie gras, butter and cheese alone. Your body and wallet will thank you.

If you like the sound of Les Pâtes Vivantes but want to spend even less:

Happy Nouilles
95, rue Beaubourg, in the 3rd.
01 44 59 31 22.

By Barbra Austin of Serve It Forth

Oysters à la japonaise.

Le Chapeau Melon
92, rue Rébeval, in the 19th Arrondissement.
Wed–Sun, dinner only. Reservations a must.
01 42 02 68 60.

Some of the best food in Paris can be found outside the city center. There’s Jadis, in the far reaches of the 15th; La Régalade, at the end of line 4; and La Bigarrade, on the edge of the sprawling 17th, just to name a few. To that list you can add Le Chapeau Melon, in Belleville.

A wine shop during the day, owned by Le Baratin cofounder Olivier Camus, Le Chapeau Melon becomes a table d’hôte at night, serving a four-course, no-choice menu for the astoundingly low price of 31.50 euros. The wines, all natural or biodynamic, are a reasonable retail, plus a corkage fee of 8.50 euros.

Enter the backroom bar and you may feel as though you’re in someone’s home. A small counter with a few seats is attached to a kitchen reminiscent of the one in my first Manhattan apartment, not only because it is minuscule, but because you have to walk through it to get to the WC, emphasis on the “C.”

The front room is set for 15 covers. You can tell them what time you want to come in, but there is essentially one seating. As far as I can tell, the courses are cooked in sequence, and if you reserved for the early end you won’t get your second course until the last party to arrive has been served their first. There is one friendly waitress for everyone.

In other words, your patience will be appreciated.

Langoustine carpaccio.

And rewarded: oysters à la japonaise, gently cooked and topped with a gingery relish, were bright and briny. Champagne—a bottle of Lassaigne Le Cotet—was just the ticket. A sweet langoustine carpaccio, seasoned with sesame and topped with paper-thin cucumber slices, was fantastic. Delicate poached sea bass was piled high with a mound of salty caviar. A traditional enough slice of foie gras was accompanied by a decidedly nontraditional mango relish, and a silky potiron soup tasted more like pumpkin than pumpkin itself.

At this point, an important question arises: what kind of food does Le Chapeau Melon serve? Though my recent meals there started with Japanese flavors, one ended with an utterly French braised beef and winter vegetables, and another with roast lamb with herbs and a piquillo pepper—a Basque touch.

This mix of influences would normally turn me off; I like to feel like I have a sense of a cook’s philosophy or vision when I read a menu. Without focus, efforts at creativity can run amok, with muddled results. But the food at Le Chapeau Melon is anything but muddled. The flavors are bold and clear and unexpectedly refined, particularly considering the setting.

Braised beef with winter vegetables.

And in this case, the setting matters. Honestly, I’m not sure that Le Chapeau Melon could exist in any part of Paris besides Belleville. It’s funky, affordable, surprising and eclectic, like the neighborhood itself.

Price check: The four-course menu is 31.50 euros. Wines are on offer at every price point (plus an 8.50 euro corkage fee). A bargain.

In a nutshell: A meal at Le Chapeau Melon feels a little like going to a dinner party in a friend’s home, assuming that friend is an excellent cook with 200 wines on the shelves of her funky Belleville apartment.

If you don’t like having menu decisions made for you but want to get your natural wine fix in Belleville:

Le Baratin
3, rue Jouye-Rouve, in the 20th.
01 43 49 39 70.

By Barbra Austin of Serve It Forth

Entrecôte and filet de bar at Zinc Caïus.

Zinc Caïus
11, rue d’Armaillé, in the 17th Arrondissement.
01 44 09 05 10. Reservations recommended.
Lunch and dinner, Tues–Sat.

Zinc Caïus is the younger, smaller, less expensive offshoot of Caïus, the restaurant across the street where chef Jean-Marc Notelet dazzles diners with his use of exotic spices (for France, anyway) and unexpected combinations and techniques. At Zinc Caïus the fare is more straightforward, a pared-down bistro menu for neighborhood locals more than visiting foodies. Yet a meal here is just as memorable as one served by its sophisticated sibling, not because it’s complicated or ambitious, but because it’s so very good.

Everyone mentions the lentil salad with lardo di Colonnata (8 euros), and for good reason. Translucent white ribbons of cured pork fat are laid atop a bed of warm lentils with walnut dressing, where they just barely start to melt. The rest (of the melting, that is) happens in your mouth. It’s heavenly.

The house-made terrine of foie gras (12 euros) is a strong contender too, silky and unctuous with a sweet, hot, very pretty piment d’Espelette jam and a delicate pile of greens. The velouté du jour (8 euros) should not be easily dismissed; on my last visit it was the humble parsnip that played a starring role, crowned with a not-so-humble and very fragrant truffle emulsion.

The house-made terrine of foie gras.

Main courses (14–20 euros) are a similar mix of tradition (a fine tartare, a well-seared entrecôte with potato purée) with more innovative elements. Alongside my crisp-skinned filet de bar (sea bass) were diced turnips—perhaps my least favorite vegetable—so deeply caramelized that at first I thought they were sweet potatoes. An odd timbale of yellow peppers and wild mushrooms accompanied my friend’s lamb chops, and it worked. The chops themselves had a fantastic crusty exterior encasing tender, moist meat.

The wine list is not huge, but the selections are thoughtful and fairly priced. With four or five whites and reds by the glass for 3.50–4.50 euros, there’s no incentive to commit to a bottle. Let the friendly waiter help you choose a glass for each dish.

For dessert, a coffee crème brûlée won out over the pain perdu with caramelized apples, but I wish I’d had room for both. There is usually one cheese offered (Morbier on one recent evening) if you don’t have a sweet tooth.

It’s a tiny room, with seating for 20 at raised tables with high but comfortable chairs. All gray and black, the modern decor is not what comes to mind when one hears the word “zinc,” and a few odd flea market finds (is that a tractor seat?) scattered around the room only add to the confusion. It’s not much to see, honestly, but like all restaurants it looks better full, and it often is.

The atmosphere is warm and convivial. Is it because the high tables create the feeling of sitting at a bar? Or because most of the customers seem to be regulars? I suspect it’s more the latter, and it’s easy to see why. Lucky are the residents of the 17th who can call this place their canteen. I would make it my own if it weren’t a dozen metro stops away.

Price check: First courses are in the 8–12 euro range. Mains run from 14 to 20 euros.

In a nutshell: A casual neighborhood watering hole with food of a high standard that merits a crosstown trip.

If faux-counter seating is not your thing and you want to see the full range of what this chef can do, book across the street at the chic Caïus:

Caïus
6, rue d’Armaillé, in the 17th.
01 42 27 19 20.

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.