By Barbra Austin

A Nice classic reworked: Pissaladière feuilletée incarnated here as a square shell
of golden puff pastry filled with onions, tomatoes, anchovies and tapenade.

Bread & Roses
7, rue de Fleurus, in the 6th Arrondissement.
01 42 22 06 06.
25, rue Boissy d’Anglas, in the 8th.
01 47 42 40 00.
Boissy hours: Mon–Sat, 8 a.m.–8 p.m.

If it’s true that we eat with the eyes, then the sight of the organic breads, oversize pastries, golden quiches and colorful salads on display at Bread & Roses will leave anyone sated.

This bakery slash tea salon slash épicerie on the rue de Fleurus has been serving its well-heeled neighbors near the Luxembourg Gardens since 2003. Lucky them.

There’s a cross-channel sensibility on display here, from the scones piled on the counter to the Bolands crackers on the shelf to the Stilton in the broccoli quiche and the wild Scottish salmon. Cheesecake and carrot cake are at home next to clafouti and mille-feuille.

Everything is available to go, but I like to lunch at one of the tables in the light-filled room or, even better, take a table outside. I ordered a pissaladière feuilletée, a reworking of the Nice classic, this one a square shell of golden puff pastry filled with onions, tomatoes, anchovies and tapenade. Like almost all of the lunch plates, it was accompanied by an herb salad of delicate greens tangled with mint and tarragon and chervil—delicious.

Other options include a plate of tabbouleh and eggplant caviar, a more-or-less classic chèvre on toast, Italian or Spanish ham, and smoked salmon, all served with an assortment of their fantastic breads.

Save room for dessert if you can. The tall, not-too-sweet cheesecake is one of the best I’ve had on any side of the Atlantic, but the thing to do is look at the case yourself and see what appeals.

The quality isn’t the only thing that’s high at Bread & Roses. A flaky scone with butter and jam will run you 6.50 euros, a petit déjeuner at grand cost. The quiches and savory tarts go for 17.50 euros.

In a nutshell: Bread & Roses is perfect for a lovely loaf or a light lunch near the Luxembourg Gardens, but it will cost you a few livres (pounds).

Price check: Lunch plates from 17.50 to 24.50 euros. Breads and pastries from 1.30 to 9.50 euros.

If you like the sound of Bread & Roses but prefer something in the Haut Marais:

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

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Sashimi of scallops and daurade.

Shu
8, rue Suger, in the 6th Arrondissement.
01 46 34 25 88. Mon–Sat, 6:30 p.m.–11 p.m.

The fun at Shu starts the moment you step through the door, a child-size portal on quiet rue Suger that leads to a cool and calm den with stone walls, broad wooden tables surrounded by cushioned benches, and a pristine little kitchen with a counter and a few seats.

The menu at this modern Japanese restaurant in a very old building is based around kushiagué—little skewers of delicately fried morsels of vegetables, meat and fish, from taro root to crispy shrimp, delicately seasoned and presented with dipping sauces, coarse salt and lemon.

There are three menus, at 38, 48 and 56 euros, with more plates as you spend more. We chose the middle one, called Suzu, which consisted of an amuse, a sashimi course, a seasonal plate, 15 of the kushiagué, a palate cleanser, a choice of noodles or rice, and dessert.

The amuse was a delicious little shrimp patty in broth with crispy haricots verts. The sashimi were firm and fresh, the milky slices of scallops especially tender and sweet. Next came two cubes of perfect sticky rice topped with salty sweet eel and speared by a sliver of cucumber.

Kushiagué.

Then came the main event, the kushiagué: shiitake mushroom, scallops, eggplant, zucchini, filet mignon (of pork) and 10 other little treats. They were presented, 3 at a time, piping hot and never greasy, some topped with a condiment or garnish, some more interesting than others. I found, and my date agreed, that it was too much; after a while the little skewers began losing their individuality and blended into one big fritter in my brain and mouth. Fried-food fatigue had set in. If I go back (and I hope to) I'll splurge on the 56 euro menu, which actually has fewer kushiagué and more of the other dishes.

We ordered one each of the rice and noodles, the rice in a soup with green tea, the inaniwa noodles served cold with dipping sauce on the side. The slippery white strings didn’t look like much but were surprisingly satisfying.

Grapefruit gelée studded with cool avocado was a refreshing dessert.

There is a short wine list that includes a thoughtful selection of delicate whites. They typically go well with clean Japanese flavors, but sake or even beer would not be a bad idea.

In a nutshell: Shu’s small plates and minimalist aesthetic yield maximum pleasure.

Price check: Fixed-price menus at 38, 48 and 56 euros.

If you like the sound of Shu but want to try modern Japanese on the other side of the Seine:

Guilo Guilo
8, rue Garreau, in the 18th.
01 42 54 23 92.
Dinner only; call for details and reservations.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Provence in Paris: stuffed tomato, peeled and filled with
slow-cooked oxtail threaded with pesto.

Le Comptoir du Relais
9, Carrefour de l’Odéon, in the 6th Arrondissement.
01 43 29 12 05. Open daily, reservations only for dinner Mon–Fri.

This address has been packed since Yves Camdeborde left the beloved La Régalade, in the 14th Arrondissement, to set up shop in the decidedly more visitor-friendly 6th. He runs the hotel upstairs, as well, and if you really want a dinner reservation at the restaurant, you’d be wise to book a room; guests have priority in the booking process.

But you won’t feel like you’re missing out if you go for the no-reservations lunch (extended to dinner on the weekends and every night in August) and order from the broad brasserie menu.

First courses include some lovely salads, but meat lovers will appreciate the range of terrines, hams and saucissons. Foie gras shows up in five places. My favorite starter is a carpaccio of tête de veau (unpoetically called headcheese in English), thin slices of rich and gelatinous matter put on a very hot plate so that it melts in your mouth. A crisp salad dressed with pungent sauce gribiche is a worthy match for the unctuous meat.

Carpaccio of tête de veau.

For a main course I often get the brandade, piping hot with a crisp top. In cooler weather I also like the beef shoulder braised in red wine. The other day, though, I chose a stuffed tomato, peeled and filled with slow-cooked oxtail threaded with pesto: Provence in Paris. My friend ordered the lamb chops with sweet red peppers. I told him to use his hands to get at the best bits of meat, right off the bone, but he was too shy. I wasn’t.

Desserts are simple but well executed. The coffee crème brûlée works, as does a classic riz au lait. A chilled soup of red fruits, studded with fresh berries and melon, garnished with a soup of sheep’s milk ice cream, hit the spot on a warm day. Less straightforward was an oversized macaroon with mascarpone cream, raspberries and piquillo pepper sorbet, more savory than sweet, with a touch of piment d’Espelette, if I’m not mistaken.

Locals and tourists fill the place every day, the queue for a table stretching out on the sidewalk. You can feel like you’re in a mill sometimes, rushed when you’d like a little more time. The service can seem lax when you’re pressed, but it is generally good, which I attribute to Camdeborde’s being there almost all the time, working as hard as everyone else.

In a nutshell: Le Comptoir du Relais is where to have lunch in the 6th, and everyone knows it.

Price check: First courses, 5–26 euros; mains, 12–24 euros; desserts, 6–11 euros.

If you’d rather stand than sit, belly up to the counter at L’Avant Comptoir, Camdeborde’s wine and tapas bar next door.

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

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Foie gras ravioli with black truffle emulsion.

Le Grand Véfour
17, rue de Beaujolais, in the 1st Arrondissement.
Mon–Thurs, lunch and dinner; Fri, lunch only.
01 42 96 56 27.

Recently I was lucky enough to be invited to lunch at Le Grand Véfour with a group of hungry bloggers.

Situated at the north end of the gardens of the Palais Royal, this address has hosted the crème de la crème of French politics and culture, its gilded, mirrored walls witness to French history. Originally called Café de Chartres when it opened in 1784, Le Grand Véfour was rechristened in 1820 by Jean Véfour, who turned it into the most sumptuous, prestigious restaurant in Paris.

After a closing during the first decades of the 20th century, chef Raymond Oliver brought it back to prominence once he took over in 1948. It was under his watch that the restaurant earned three Michelin stars. When Oliver left, a star was lost but then regained in 2000, only to be lost again in 2008.

The word “modern” is generally not associated with Le Grand Véfour. Walking through the doors (opened for you by a gloved attendant) feels like entering a time capsule, in fact. But Guy Martin, the chef since 2000, is doing his best to bring the cuisine into the 21st century. The truffle sauce with the foie gras ravioli was aerated to a foam. Übertraditional frogs’ legs were made hip, fried like chicken drumsticks and served with what I will inelegantly but accurately call house-made ketchup. The petits pois atop a pressed tomato tart that accompanied the lamb were not peas at all but barely gelled drops of pea juice, a concession to the molecular trend.

These dishes were more or less successful, but certain elements of the meal reminded me of a woman who doesn’t dress her age. I actually loved those frogs’ legs with spicy ketchup, but I’m not sure they belong on the hand-painted china at a restaurant like Le Grand Véfour. Similarly, the chocolate box that arrived for dessert, filled with mango, felt neither classic nor modern, only dated.

Summer savory-crusted lamb with tomato tart.

There were standouts, though. That foie gras ravioli is the most-ordered dish at Le Grand Véfour for good reason, and the lamb was beautifully crusted, perfectly cooked and fragrant with summer savory.

And then of course there is the cheese tray, a bountiful display of dozens that will take your breath away. It’s mythical.

This menu would normally cost a hefty 268 euros. There is a lunch menu, though, priced sensibly at 88 euros, which includes a starter, main, cheese and dessert. Expensive, yes, but a relative bargain for this class of restaurant.

In a nutshell: Going to Le Grand Véfour is like going back in time. The question is whether or not the restaurant is ready for the future.

Price check: Fixed-price menus 88 euros (lunch only) and 268 euros. À la carte, 200–220 euros. Wine prices start on the ground but reach toward the heavens.

If you like the sound of Le Grand Véfour but want to see how another classic is faring these days:

Taillevent
15, rue Lamennais, in the 8th.
01 44 95 15 01.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Beef with pickled vegetables and summer truffle.

Le Chateaubriand
129, ave Parmentier, in the 11th Arrondissement.
01 43 57 45 95. Tues–Sat, 7:30–11:00 p.m.

This much-lauded restaurant is on every visiting foodie’s to-do list. It was recently named the 11th-best restaurant in the world by the UK's Restaurant Magazine, in fact, though these kinds of proclamations are best taken with a large grain of fleur du sel.

The jury is divided on Basque chef Iñaki Aizpitarte’s singular, modern food. Many people love it, and others are left displeased, but everyone who has eaten it has an opinion.

The first seating is by reservation, but for a later dinner show up around 9:00 or 9:30 and sip natural wine at the bar while you wait for the tables to start turning.

As is the trend these days, the names of the producers who furnish the restaurant with its vegetables, meats and wines are written on a large board on the wall. The old bar makes a cool centerpiece in the glowing room, but there’s not much else to speak of in the way of decor. Still, this space always appeals to me, thanks in part to the attractive crowd (and waiters), hip and happy faces reflected in the mirrors.

When you sit you’ll be asked if you are allergic to anything. This is because Le Chateaubriand serves a unique 45 euro menu. Everyone gets the same series of five or six dishes.

The plates brim with color and feature vegetables prepared in unusual ways. Many are pickled, some aren’t cooked at all and some are smoked. A charred eggplant puree has made an appearance in every meal I’ve had here, once with some very rare beef and most recently with a fillet of mackerel, strewn with leaves and corn shaved from the cob.

On this visit that rare beef was found under a thin sheet of radish, along with carrots, summer truffle and beets, the vegetables sharp and crisp with brine. When a dish works, like this one did, it’s fresh and fantastic. But it’s precisely this style of noncooking that leaves some diners feeling raw.

Lait ribot ice cream with herb salad.

Dessert was a tangy ice cream of lait ribot—sort of like buttermilk—crowned with a leafy garland of sweet and tender herbs, a refreshing end to the meal. I loved it, particularly after having suffered through a concoction of Pop Rocks on previous visits.

In a nutshell: My opinion of Le Chateaubriand? Eat here once or twice and form your own.

Price check: Unique five-course dinner menu for 45 euros. Natural wines run the gamut.

If you like the sound of Le Chateaubriand but want to try another Basque chef with an independent streak, visit Stéphane Jego at Chez l’Ami Jean:

Chez l’Ami Jean
27, rue Malar, in the 7th. 01 47 05 86 89.
Tues–Sat, noon to 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. to midnight.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Pistachio dacquoise with raspberries.

Café des Musées
49, rue de Turenne, in the 3rd Arrondissement.
01 42 72 96 17.
Open every day, lunch and dinner.

Could it be? An honest bistro in the heart of the Marais? One that’s . . . open on Sundays?

If all of this seems to good to be true, rest assured that is actually exists at Café des Musées. The corner location, with its wood paneling and windows opening onto the sidewalk, is quintessentially Parisian. A favorite of locals and visitors alike, it's perfect for those who are not looking for something revolutionary, just good food at good prices. Though in this part of town that might be revolutionary in itself.

We started with a terrine de volaille, rich with liver and studded with fat, accompanied by the largest pot of cornichons I have ever seen. The terrine was good and rustic; I only wish the toast had been up to the task. We loved our other starter, mushrooms à l’escargot: sizzling caps filled with snails, roasted and drowned in garlic butter, the mushroom a delicious substitute for the shell.

Pork chop, gratin dauphinois, frites.

You’ll see French bistro favorites, including a decent steak frites with an addictive béarnaise. I had a pork chop, remarkably tender and juicy, though the accompanying gratin dauphinois was juicy, too; the sauce surrounding the potatoes was runny, not creamy. A fillet of bar felt Mediterranean with its side salads, diced tomato and black olives. It was light and fresh, perfectly good, though its owner clearly wished he had gone the heartier route.

The wine list is short and sweet, with a few whites, a few reds and Drappier Champagne by the coupe, requiring little of your decision-making capabilities. The desserts posed a bigger problem: they all sounded good. At the waiter’s urging I ordered a pistachio and raspberry dacquoise, a crisp meringue disk topped with pistachio cream and plump raspberries. My friends had said that they didn’t want anything, and when I tasted it I held them to their word and hoarded it.

In a nutshell: With a great location, solid food and a charming room, Café des Musées is an easy choice for a no-fuss Parisian meal.

Price check: Starters at 6–10 euros, mains at 15–21 euros. Desserts, 6–8 euros.

If you are on a tighter budget but in the mood for classic Paris:

Bistrot Victoires
6, rue la Vrillière, in the 1st.
01 42 61 43 78.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

The leafy terrace at Hôtel Amour.

Hôtel Amour
8, rue Navarin, in the 9th Arrondissement.
01 48 78 31 80. Daily, noon–11 p.m.

The food at Hôtel Amour is perfectly fine, but it’s the leafy terrace in the back that makes my heart sing. On a warm summer day it feels several degrees cooler in this sort of urban secret garden. Here it’s also cooler, with a laid-back right-bank mix of diners tucking into their tartare with gusto.

The menu is conducive to light meals and snacking. Start with a bunch of radishes or make a meal out of a chicken Caesar salad, a salade niçoise, or a plate of melon, mozzarella and Spanish ham. In case you haven’t noticed, the offerings here are less French, more casual-cosmopolitan. But then so is the clientele.

I saw plenty of bountiful salads pass by in the hands of pretty young waitresses, but many hungrier types were skipping the greens and going straight for the burger, with or without bacon and cheese. I have heard very good things about that burger (from a curmudgeonly American, no less), and I suspect those comments have to do at least in part with the honest pile of frites that accompanies it—crisp, golden, freshly fried and served with all the accoutrements from Heinz and Hellmann’s. Now that’s amour!

Roast chicken with fries.

A burger was not in the cards for me on a recent visit. I wanted to try more of the menu. Starters included smoked salmon, an artichoke salad with Parmesan and olive oil, and a tomato soup with basil. I chose a salad of green peas and fava beans, tossed with delicate greens, bacon and chèvre, which was just right.

I got my fix of fries with the roasted chicken. The chicken (a poulet jaune des Landes) was moist and flavorful, comme il faut, and the green salad was fresh and well dressed, competing as well as it could with those fries. Memorable? Not exactly, but satisfying nonetheless. Other main-course options included an entrecôte, grilled bass and grilled saucisses.

The real treat here, though, as I said earlier, is the setting. A brick patio under a glass atrium gives way to a lush garden with more seating among the greenery. There are a couple of tables secluded up a few stone stairs, which would make an excellent spot for clandestine business meetings.

Or a little amour, maybe.

In a nutshell: With a pretty crowd, a prettier space and pretty good food, there’s plenty to love about Hôtel Amour.

Price check: Starters are 6–15 euros; mains, 13–28 euros; desserts 4.50–9 euros.

For similar food with a grander view, visit Café Marly, which looks onto the main courtyard of the Louvre and is priced accordingly.

INFO

Café Marly
93, rue de Rivoli, in the 1st.
01 49 26 06 60. Open daily, all day.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Pigeon with sweetbreads, girolles and cucumbers.

Spring Restaurant
6, rue Bailleul, in the 1st Arrondissement.
01 45 96 05 72.
Dinner, Tues–Sat; lunch, Thurs–Sat.

In high summer, Spring has sprung.

Has sprung again, I should say; this is the second incarnation of Daniel Rose’s much-lauded restaurant in the 9th, open at long last.

A fantastic renovation has left original architectural details of the 16th century space in place, protected but visible thanks to clever and beautiful use of glass to cover exposed beams and stone walls, and to encase a risky old stairway. A huge plate-glass window swings out to the street. The open stainless steel kitchen is the centerpiece, dominating the roughly 22-seat dining room. There you can watch Daniel, cochef Marie-Aude Mery and their small staff at work.

Your meal there will not be the same as mine, though it will be the same as your neighbor’s. The unique 64 euro menu changes daily according to whim and what products are available.

We settled in with champagne and a plate of melon with cured pork loin, ready to get down to business.

On this night there was eggplant, showing off its versatility as a crisp croquette, a quenelle of caviar, a deeply caramelized confit and, most surprising, a lightly pickled wedge that half the table mistook for a tomato. Smoked eel lent salt and depth to the menagerie.

Eggplant four ways, smoked eel.

Next, tuna two ways: over sweet, delicately smoked tomatoes, accompanied by a tender morsel enrobed in ashes of leeks—a Catalonian riff on old Paris. A single well-seasoned prawn completed the plate. Pigeon followed, mingling with sweetbreads on a bed of girolles and spears of cucumber (a vegetable rarely eaten any way but raw), its flavor concentrated by cooking.

We enjoyed a fantastic cheese plate of Ossau Iraty, cratered cantal and oozy Brie. We finished with a series of sweet dishes: an apricot floating in a verbena broth with red currants and mint; a plate of cherries sautéed with fresh almonds; and a deconstructed lemon tart. These are what I think of as “cooks' desserts,” dispensing with classic pastry forms and focusing first and foremost on flavor.

Lunch is different, built around a daily bouillon—a nod to the earliest Paris restaurants and, specifically, to nearby Les Halles. Chicken or pigeon and pristine vegetables get their turn in the savory bath, and small plates round out the offerings.

The thoughtful wine list is made up of bottles from small producers practicing organic or biodynamic winemaking, from la belle France but also Italy, Germany and Austria. Prices range from the reasonable sub–30 euro mark to, well, whatever you’d like to spend.

Speaking of wine, in September a wine bar will open on the lower level. Something tells me I’ll be spending a lot of time there.

If you want to eat upstairs, though, stop reading this and book immediately.

In a nutshell: It seems that Daniel Rose has done it again.

Price check: The multicourse dinner menu is 64 euros; lunch bouillon, 23 euros.

If Spring appeals but . . . but what? Book now.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Milk-fed veal, wild salmon, chorizo and anchovies.

Chez l’Ami Jean
27, rue Malar, in the 7th Arrondissement.
Tues–Sat, noon to 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. to midnight.
01 47 05 86 89.

At first Chez l’Ami Jean feels like an old-fashioned bistro. Open since 1931, with tables packed tightly in, the space features hams and peppers hanging from the ceiling, and rugby jerseys and family photos on the walls. But since Yves Camdeborde protégé Stéphane Jego took over in 2003, L'Ami Jean has become a destination for Parisians and visitors alike. A classic? Yes. A modern one.

There is a 35 euro formule offered at lunch and dinner. I have always found the copious printed menu here a little hard to navigate, to be honest, so I look to what’s written on the ardoise to help narrow things down.

But I will confess that my favorite way to eat at this Basque-inflected bistro is to order the 60 euro “carte blanche” menu, a series of (usually) six surprises from the kitchen.

We started with a crawfish soup, intense in aroma but a little light in taste, flecked with tiny croutons, peas and chives. Next was a fillet of cod doused with a parsley purée that conjured Dr. Seuss, served with duck foie gras, fava beans and the ribbon of chorizo that comes with many dishes here. Though it certainly adds a splash of color, the chorizo is more than a garnish; a bit of it on your fork adds salt and a touch of heat.

The mixing of meat and fish on the same plate is a recurring theme in Jego’s cooking. Following the cod, for example, was a tender morsel of milk-fed veal sitting atop a translucent sheet of wild salmon, topped in turn with anchovies and more of that chorizo. It shouldn’t work, but it does.

Lobster with boudin noir (blood pudding).

After that was an even more unlikely (to me, anyway) and even more delicious marriage of lobster and boudin noir, a buttery rich claw keeping company with dark and ferrous blood pudding and paper-thin strips of lard. The last savory course was sweetbreads with summer’s girolle mushrooms. These two elements alone would have made a fine dish, but Jego added a briny and herbaceous seafood salad.

I said before that the menu "carte blanche" was all surprises, but that’s not entirely true: the last course is always L’Ami Jean’s famous riz au lait (rice pudding), plopped down in a huge bowl for self-service and impossible to refuse even after so many courses.

Not everyone will love L’Ami Jean, but plenty of people do, and at night the place is packed. If you have a low tolerance for what some call “bustling” and others call “brusque,” I suggest going for lunch, which feels downright tranquil in comparison. In any case, reserve.

In a nutshell: Stéphane Jego’s bold cooking makes Chez l’Ami Jean one of the best contemporary bistros in Paris.

Price check: 35 euro formules at lunch and dinner, or 40–50 euros à la carte. The menu “carte blanche” is 60 euros. A mostly southwestern wine list with both bargains and splurges.

If you like Basque-flavored bistros, you’ll also like Christian Etchebest’s Le Troquet:

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

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Cherry clafouti with pistachio cream.

Le Grand Pan
20, rue Rosenwald, in the 15th Arrondissement.
01 42 50 02 50. Mon–Fri, noon–2 p.m. and 7:30 p.m.–11 p.m.

In Greek mythology, Pan is the god of nature, reigning over pastures and flocks, and the shepherds who keep them. While there is nothing particularly pastoral about the 15th Arrondissement of Paris, there nature’s bounty is yours for the eating at Le Grand Pan.

This bistro often comes up in conversations about where to find a good steak. While it’s true that the côte de boeuf is superb, the generous use of seasonal vegetables at Le Grand Pan makes it more than just an address for meat and potatoes. A refreshing crab gelée was topped with a pile of tender green beans, a nest for a few sweet and rosy shrimps. An earthy mound of girolles was livened up by a marinade, tangy with vinegar and red peppers, and a salty strip of crisp bacon.

Girolles made another appearance with my main course, underneath a beautiful filet mignon of pork, and enriched with a touch of cream. The pigeon that my friend ordered looked comparatively austere, accompanied only by a red wine sauce, but the flavor of this little crisp-skinned bird was anything but.

The best way to eat at Le Grand Pan, though, might be with someone who likes to share. On the wall is a list of pedigreed meats—pork from Eric Ospital, veal and beef from Mauléon—all meant for two mouths, all served with thick, golden fries and, if you’d like, a salad of delicate greens from vegetable goddess Annie Bertin. 

Filet mignon of pork with girolles.

The wine list is oriented mostly toward the southwest, and includes a number of by-the-glass pours and carafes for under 20 euros. What’s not to like about that?

Keeping with the season, we had a very successful cherry clafouti for dessert, topped with a spoonful of pistachio whipped cream (something I will be trying out at home, for sure). That wasn’t before enjoying some cheese, though, a serve-yourself board of five beauties.

When we walked into the room, the atmosphere was friendly and relaxed. I had the distinct impression that most of the diners were neighborhood regulars, and when we left, I remember thinking that I would be a regular at Le Grand Pan, too, if I lived nearby.

In a nutshell: Le Grand Pan deliciously brings the best of French flora and fauna from the fields to the table.

Price check: First courses, 8–16 euros. Mains, 21–25 euros. Desserts, 7 euros.

If Le Grand Pan sounds good but the location doesn’t, visit La Régalade Saint-Honoré, smack dab in the middle of Paris, for great seasonal bistro cooking:

La Régalade Saint-Honoré
123, rue St.-Honoré, in the 1st.
01 42 21 92 40. Mon–Fri, lunch and dinner.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Sautéed limande with couscous and red pepper.

Les Botanistes
11 bis, rue Chomel, in the 7th Arrondissement.
01 45 49 04 54. Mon–Sat, noon–2:30 p.m. and 7:30 p.m.–10:30 p.m.

Here’s a new-old address in the shadow of le Bon Marché. Formerly le Gorille Blanc, the restaurant there is now called les Botanistes, and it's under new ownership. The restaurants in this area tend toward uninspired and overpriced, but when François Simon gave it a pas mal (not faint praise, considering the source), I decided I would give it a try.

We were warmly welcomed and asked if we’d like to sit inside or outside. Les Botanistes is on a quiet, low-traffic street, and the sun was shining, so the choice was not difficult.

Ordering, though, was not so easy, mainly because many of the dishes appealed to me. A sort of sunniness shone through even in reading the menu, where herbs and vegetables are more than just a garnish. It’s the kind of food I like to eat most this time of year. The pricing presented a less pleasant dilemma: the two-course, 17-euro lunch menu is a good deal, but your choices are limited to a few selected items. On this day they were gazpacho, green herb salad or salmon tartare for starters; and for mains, chicken with shitake jus or filet of limande (kind of like sole) with couscous. Stray from the formule, and you will spend twice as much, a reminder that this is the 7th Arrondissement, after all.

As is often the case, the à la carte offerings were a little more interesting, particularly a risotto of chipirons (Basque-style squid) with green asparagus, cod with marjoram vinaigrette and lamb with summery ratatouille. Among the first courses, a mushroom terrine piqued my interest, and I didn’t regret spending the extra euros. It was the best dish of the meal—savory and nutty, brightened with a splash of parsley coulis, intense mushrooms lightened up for summer. I loved it. The gazpacho was honest and refreshing, just as it should be.

Mushroom terrine with parsley coulis.

The chicken was fine, though its accompanying shitake jus lacked the earthy depth one hopes for in mushroom sauces. The limande was cooked perfectly and placed on its fluffy semolina bed, napped with a red-pepper sauce whose flavor matched its color. I was happy.

We spoke with the owner, Jean-Baptiste Gay. He told us he likes to keep things simple, with no more than three or four elements to a dish. He uses the best ingredients he can find and treats them simply. He cooks the way he likes to eat, and it comes through on the plate.

In a nutshell: You could say that the food at les Botanistes is a little comme il faut. But if that means good ingredients treated well by a careful cook, then there is nothing wrong with that.

Price check: Two courses at lunch are 17.70 euros. A la carte, first courses are 8–16 euros, mains are 18–24 euros.

Feeling more rue Cambon than Bon Marché? Visit contemporary brasserie Flottes O.Trement for pre- or postshopping sustenance.

INFO

Flottes O. Trement
2, rue Cambon, in the 1st.
01 42 61 31 15. Tues–Sat, lunch and dinner.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Bob’s Kitchen
74, rue des Gravilliers, in the 3rd Arrondissement.
09 52 55 11 66. Mon–Fri, 8 a.m.–3 p.m.; Sat–Sun, 10 a.m.–4 p.m.

I’m no vegetarian, but when I walk out of Bob’s Kitchen, I have the unmistakable feeling that I’ve just done something good for my health.

First, there are the juices. The mash-up of watermelon, kiwi, pineapple, lemon, strawberry and mint sounded more like a grocery list than a recipe for goodness, but my taste buds (and nagging cold) thanked me after my first sip through the bendy straw. I shouldn’t have been skeptical. This is the Bob behind Bob’s Juice Bar, whose name isn’t Bob at all (it’s Marc Grossman). The man knows a thing or two about juice.

As for solid food, you can go in a few directions: there is a veggie burger, served on a whole-wheat English muffin, with three different salads. The patty is made from rice, red beans, herbs and vegetables, including a bit of hot pepper. It’s savory and toothsome, even better smeared with guacamole or tapenade. I could live without the potato salad (a personal bias more than a comment on Bob’s version), but the slaw with sesame oil and rice-wine vinaigrette, flecked with black sesame seeds, was delicious.

The veggie burger.

Those of you who like it raw could order a bol cru, a deep bowl filled with a rotating cast of vegetables and grains of many colors. There are also house-made makitori, Japanese-style hand rolls. There are honest-to-god pancakes, two plate-sized flapjacks with enough fluff to absorb all the maple syrup you care to douse on them. Be sure to ask for them with fruit. An ever-changing “veggie stew” is on the board, too. It can be very good or, in the case of last weekend’s “Thai” version, neither noticeably Thai nor what I’d call a stew, the kind of boring mess that gives vegetarian cooking a bad name. Pass the sriracha, please.

Something about the space makes me feel like I’m in the arts-and-crafts room back in grade school. Is it the piano in the corner? The magnets slapped on the board to form the day’s menu? Or the long table, whose wells could hold paintbrushes instead of flatware? I don’t know, but it’s fun and funky, and I like it.

Desserts are low-guilt minimuffins and oat cookies, and the coffee is ground to order, a rarity in Paris. But I don’t go to Bob’s for dessert. I go to Bob’s because I’ve had too much dessert.

Price check: From 1 euro (for the minimuffin) to 12 euros (for the veggie burger). A bio-bargain.

In a nutshell: The food at Bob’s is good and good for you.

If Bob’s sounds good, you’ll also like that other bastion of the bio-bobo brunch set, Rose Bakery, which has a location in the Marais.

Rose Bakery II
30, rue Debelleyme, in the 3rd.
01 49 96 54 01.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Suckling Pyrenees lamb with stuffed peppers.

Le Timbre
3, rue Ste.-Beuve, in the 6th Arrondissement.
01 45 49 10 40. Tues–Sat, noon–2 p.m. and 7:30 p.m.–10:30 p.m.

I first visited this place with a couple of girlfriends more than three years ago. Our table wasn’t ready, so we waited with a glass of wine at the kitchen counter, where we tried to stay out of the way of the busy serveuse while chatting and watching the chef cook away. I was charmed.

The aptly named Le Timbre is the size of a postage stamp, a single room with a tiny kitchen in the back. Every inch of space is put to use. There is a banquette along each wall, and you’ll need help getting in and out.

The words cuisine traditionnelle are written on the window, but even if they weren’t, it would be obvious. Terrine de campagne with onion jam, hure de cochon (a.k.a. head cheese), white asparagus, fennel soup: like other bistros in this genre, it’s less about creativity than quality. Those white asparagus were served with a mustard-laden vinaigrette and a green herb puree, each bright and well seasoned.

There were a few Basque touches to the main courses: rabbit was served with chorizo, and a falling-apart-tender piece of young Pyrenees lamb sat next to stuffed pimiente peppers, racy red with a hint of heat. A seasonal sensibility is apparent, asparagus popping up again in the main courses alongside girolle mushrooms to accompany duck confit.

Sweet teeth would do well to opt for Le Timbre’s signature mille-feuille, a peach-and-rhubarb crumble or, in my case, Agen prunes (the best prunes in the world, maybe) in white wine and spices. I love these kinds of simple bistro desserts.

The Rhône and Loire valleys are well represented on the wine list, along with the Languedoc and Roussillon, most reasonably priced and most from small biodynamic winemakers.

If I told you that the chef of this near-perfect little French bistro was English, would you be surprised? Maybe, but if you’re a cheese lover you’ll appreciate the single nod he makes to his homeland: a plate of Stilton, that champion of blues that rarely gets its due in France, chauvinist as it is.

Because of Le Timbre’s size, I recommend calling two days in advance for a table. Those 20-some seats fill up quickly with neighborhood locals and visiting foodies staying in the area.

In a nutshell: A meal at the tiny Le Timbre should leave bistro lovers with a big smile.

Price check: First courses, mains and desserts are 8, 17 and 7 euros, respectively, barring the occasional supplement.

If you love the sound of this pocket-sized bistro, you’ll also love the minuscule La Cerisaie, on the other side of the Gare Montparnasse.

La Cerisaie
70, blvd Edgar Quinet, in the 14th.
01 43 20 98 98. Mon–Fri, noon–2 p.m. and 7 p.m.–10 p.m.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Salad with magret de canard.

Charbon Rouge
25, rue Marbeuf, in the 8th Arrondissement.
01 40 70 09 99. Daily, noon to 11:30 p.m.

Here’s an address for steak frites with South American style.

Sure, you can have béarnaise sauce with your steak at Charbon Rouge, but one look at the menu and you’ll know that this isn’t a classic French steakhouse.

It’s a concept restaurant, really, and the concept is simple: high-quality aged beef from good sources around the world—Charolais beef from France, Wagyu raised in New Zealand, Angus from the United States and Argentina—cooked over a charcoal grill.

For starters I considered the seviche and gazpacho, but then I hastily ordered the entrée du jour before realizing that it was perhaps not the best idea to have a salad with duck breast before having a big piece of steak.

But when it arrived, a fat portobello supporting rosy slices of grilled duck with a scattering of greens and red onions, I no longer cared. The dressing was bold, with bits of lardoon, herbs and almonds. I could have stopped there.

I’ve heard good things about the burger here, and the mother and daughter across from me were certainly enjoying theirs. But steak seemed like the way to go. Priced from 19 to 73 euros (that’s for the Wagyu), the meat is grilled to your preferred cuisson and served with different sauces: a bright herb-based chimichurri, béarnaise, or charbon rouge, a red pepper–based sauce with mild heat. You have a choice of sides: grilled vegetables, fries, or a Caesar or green salad. There is also a choice of knives, serrated or non. I recommend non.

Grilled flank steak.

I had an American flank steak and, naturally, fries. The fries were not bad but I’m skeptical that they were fraîches (fresh), as advertised. As one of the last lunchers in the place, I think I may have gotten the dregs. The steak itself was fantastic, perfectly cooked and well seasoned, and I loved the spice in the red sauce.

In the name of professionalism I had dessert, too, a verrine made with dulce de leche that was bogged down by a pasty chocolate tapioca and a lace cookie about to go limp.

The whole place is pretty slick, all wood and leather in shades of brown and black and red, with a lovely tiled bar area (great for solo dining) and bovine-themed art all around, in case you forget what you’re eating. The restaurant is large, with two levels and a bathroom that dwarfs my apartment. The crowd is well heeled, with plenty of suits, but full of friendly energy, which is surely in part the effect of a gracious staff.

In a nutshell: Charbon Rouge is a concept restaurant where you can have your steak and eat it, too, South American style.

Price check: Reasonable, especially considering it’s located near the Champs Elysées. Two-course menu at lunch, 23.50 euros. A la carte, first courses from 8 to 12 euros; main courses from 16 to 73 euros; desserts from 7 to 9 euros. Wines at every price point.

If you’re craving red meat but Charbon Rouge sounds too sleek for you, visit the more traditional Maison de l'Aubrac, just down the street:

La Maison de l'Aubrac 
37, rue Marbeuf, in the 8th.
01 43 59 05 14. Open daily.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Vanilla-poached rhubarb.

Aux Deux Amis
45, rue Oberkampf, in the 11th Arrondissement.
01 58 30 38 13. Tues–Sat, lunch and dinner.

“A real neighborhood place,” I kept hearing a man say at the table next to us, at Aux Deux Amis, and he’s right. But this can have wildly different meanings, depending on the neighborhood. In this case it’s Oberkampf, lively and mixed, with plenty of unglazed cool.

I reserved a table, but in the future I’ll belly up to the bar or try my luck for a spot outside; it’s a casual way to eat, but Aux Deux Amis is nothing if not casual.

The room could be called retro, but that would imply that it was redecorated at some point, and it doesn’t appear to have been, ever. I found the midcentury-feel fun, but if you want classic charm or flattering lighting, this is not an address for you.

Still, the yellow glare didn’t change the fact that most of what we ate was very good. The food here is in many ways typical wine or tapas bar fare, with Spanish, French and Italian elements, but somehow none of it seems . . . typical.

Sweetbreads with chive blossoms, white asparagus.

There was no printed menu, only a very sweet, very cute waiter (this is apparently a requirement at his former place of employment, Le Chateaubriand) wielding a list of offerings scribbled on several slips of paper. There was one plat chaud available, a saucisse de Morteau with potatoes, but we opted for a series of small plates.

We had white asparagus, cooked (barely enough) and served cold with very good olive oil, salt and pepper. A trembling mound of the Italian cheese burrata, looking like it might burst out of its seams, was served the same way. A wedge of Spanish tortilla arrived, and I did something I’m sure I’ve never done in Paris before: I asked the table next to us to pass the Tabasco.

Less classic was the dish of beets with cod liver and sesame seeds. Though I liked each of the elements, together they didn’t entirely work for me; sometimes a mix of strong flavors adds up to less than the sum of its parts. But a plate of panfried sweetbreads, topped with a scattering of chive blossoms, was disarmingly good; the ris de veau were cooked just right, and the tiny flowers packed a peppery, oniony punch.

Poached rhubarb was dessert. It was utterly simple, but we fought over the last drops of vanilla-flecked juice.

The wines are, naturally, natural, and available by the glass or pot or bottle. We didn’t look at a list but instead put our faith in Mr. Handsome, who came through with a bottle of white Burgundy for 29 euros.

In a nutshell: You may not be able to look as effortlessly cool as the hip clientele at Aux Deux Amis, but you can eat and drink very well here without trying at all.

Price check: Small plates, 3.50–7 euros. Lunch menu, 19.50 euros. In general, count on 25–30 euros total, with wine.

If formica isn’t your thing, try the cozy Coinstot Vino in the charming passage des Panoramas:

Coinstot Vino
26 bis, passage des Panoramas, in the 2nd.
01 44 82 08 54. Mon, lunch; Tue–Fri, lunch and dinner; Sat, dinner.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Galette printanière.

Breizh Café
109, rue Vieille du Temple, in the 3rd Arrondissement.
01 42 72 13 77. Wed–Sat, noon–11 p.m. Sun, noon–10 p.m.

Every time I visit this place and bite into one of their savory buckwheat galettes, nutty and crisp on the edges, I kick myself for not eating there more often.

“Breizh” means “Brittany” in the Breton language (and it is a language, not a dialect of French), and the menu here is a culinary treasure chest of the region. Oysters from the coast, charcuterie from the land, cider from the apple trees and, of course, butter. The twist is that there is a Far Eastern influence on this food from western France: owner Bertrand Larcher’s wife is Japanese, and they have multiple locations there. At first Breizh seems straightforwardly charming, with wood-paneled walls and glass doors that open to the sidewalk like any corner restaurant in Paris. But then you notice the Pop art on the walls; read the words “wasabi,” “yuzu” and “matcha” on the menu; see the way the oysters are laid out on their salt piles; notice how the filling is arranged in your crêpe; and see the appetizer galettes, filled and rolled up and sliced, served “en roll.” It’s subtle, but the Japanese influence is there.

Ultimately what makes Breizh great is the quality of the ingredients. Even if you order your galette (a savory crêpe made with buckwheat) with nothing but butter, the butter is from Bordier. In your complète, the egg is organic, and the cheese is a raw-milk Petit Savoyard. The chocolate on your sweet crêpe is Valrhona, of course.

I ordered the printanière (12.50 euros) from the specials board; it featured white asparagus along with smoked duck breast thinly sliced, and cheese. The filling was great, but it’s the actual galette, framing everything perfectly, that makes the dish, in the same way that a good crust makes a pizza. In general, vegetarians (though perhaps not vegans) will be happy here, as will families. There are always some children in the dining room, but this isn’t a bustling romper room. There is a seriousness, and a quality, here that makes adults very happy. Just ask the couple having a leisurely lunch feast of oysters the other day.

The beverage of choice is cider, mostly organic from small producers, and the offerings range from dry and sharp to sweet and floral—all less expensive than most wines. Our amiable server helped us choose one.

For dessert, I’m not sure it gets better than a tender crêpe drizzled with salted butter caramel . . . unless you add ice cream. There are chocolate options, too, as well as seasonal fruit toppings. And one last sweet note: wrapped caramels come with the check.

In a nutshell: Breizh Café’s catchphrase is “la crêpe autrement” ("the crêpe done differently"), and they aren’t kidding.

Price check: With savory main-course galettes running from 3.80 to 14 euros, there is something for every budget here.

If you like crêpes but not “autrement,” visit Josselin for old-school charm:

Crêperie de Josselin
67, rue du Montparnasse, in the 14th.
01 43 20 93 50. Closed Mon.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Quenelles with crayfish sauce.

Aux Lyonnais
32, rue St.-Marc, in the 2nd Arrondissement.
01 42 96 65 04. Lunch, Tues–Fri; dinner, Tues–Sat.

Lyon is an easy trip from Paris: the TGV will get you there in about two hours. But for a taste of Lyon without leaving town, there’s Aux Lyonnais.

Open since 1890, the restaurant is now part of Alain Ducasse’s Esprit Bistrot group. The room is gorgeous, a warm belle epoque space, with ornate molding and mirrors, filled with the kind of bright, buttery light that seems to exist only in Paris. The pink-and-white-checked tablecloths, though, remind you that the inspiration here comes from the famous bouchons of Lyon.

Not that it isn’t obvious. The 34-euro prix fixe dinner menu currently offers a choice of two main courses, arguably the most famous dishes of Lyon: quenelles and tablier de sapeur. Quenelles are a sort of large dumpling made of flour, butter, eggs and brochet (pike fish), carefully poached then served with an intense crayfish sauce. Tablier is tripe that’s marinated, breaded and panfried. A good one has the power to change the minds of avowed tripe haters. Both were delicious, their simple presentations belying the technique behind each dish.

The prices are a bit higher à la carte, but I was tempted by two starters (both 18 euros) that weren’t part of the formule: one was an omelet with morels, the other was asparagus with olives; both reflected the restaurant’s commitment to seasonal cooking. I chose the asparagus, and the robust spears that arrived were deep green and properly cooked, with black olives and a morsel of pork belly adding earthy saltiness. Our other starter was a dish of ravioles de Romans, tiny squares of cheese-filled pasta not from Rome but the town of Romans, in the Drôme, freshened with plenty of parsley.

Tablier de sapeur.

In addition to being the culinary capital of France, Lyon is positioned at the convergence of two great wine regions, Burgundy and the Rhône Valley. The wine list at Aux Lyonnais reflects this. Sadly a Cornas was not in the budget this night, but a fruity Morgon for 35 euros certainly was.

To end we shared a classic île flottante, snow-white meringue studded with the famous rose-colored praline of Lyon, and an oversize macaroon filled with almond ice cream and poached rhubarb. The latter was one of the best desserts I’ve had in a while.

At lunch the suits from the nearby stock exchange fill Aux Lyonnais, but at dinner the other night we heard plenty of American voices. It’s no wonder: there is something archetypal about the way the space looks and feels, and that fulfills many dreams of the Perfect Paris Restaurant. For that reason I would highly recommend it for first-time visitors. And for that reason, as well as great cooking, I’ll be going back.

In a nutshell: Aux Lyonnais brings the classics of Lyon to Paris, in classic style.

Price check: The three-course prix fixe menu is 34 euros at dinner and 30 euros at lunch. À la carte, starters are 11–18 euros, main courses 20–25 euros and desserts 9.50–12 euros.

If you like the sound of Aux Lyonnais but want to try another great room in the 2nd:

Le Grand Colbert
2, rue Vivienne, in the 2nd.
01 42 86 87 88. Daily, 12 p.m.–1 a.m.

Editor's note: For a gourmet walking tour, check out our DIY downloadable tours.

By Barbra Austin

Cochon de lait au foie gras (suckling pig with foie gras).

Chez Grenouille
52, rue Blanche, in the 9th Arrondissement.
01 42 81 34 07. Mon–Fri, lunch and dinner.
Sat, dinner only.

Each of us looks for something different in a restaurant experience. Some people want a great room; some want to witness the latest culinary trends; some like a particular kind of crowd in a cool neighborhood; some just want to go wherever the buzz is; and some will eat anywhere as long as the food is good.

A restaurant that’s been getting a bit of buzz lately is the decidedly unchic, definitely not trendy, and somewhat-located-in-no-man’s-land Chez Grenouille.

My first visit for dinner was, for the most part, satisfying. Scrambled eggs with morels, a house-made terrine with morels, suckling pig with foie gras, a parmentier (shepherd’s pie) of duck with a bright carrot top: it was rich, earthy auberge food served by a waiter whose demeanor was so gentle and sweet that I could not really get too peeved at him for forgetting our bread, and then our wine. On the other hand, this is France. Bread and wine are fundamentals of service.

Parmentier de canard aux carottes.

The chef-owner of Chez Grenouille, Alexis Blanchard, has won prizes for his terrines and other charcuterie, and on his menu he sticks to what he knows best. In other words, vegetarians and those with cholesterol problems should go elsewhere. For carnivores, though, there is plenty that will please. The suckling pig I mentioned was a gorgeous, melt-in-your-mouth morsel of meat surrounded by crisp skin, and it would have been fine without the little piece of seared foie gras on top. The parmentier looked a bit skimpy when it arrived, but underneath the sweet carrot lid was a deeply seasoned stew of duck that turned out to be more than enough. The wine list is on the short side, but a juicy red Burgundy did just fine. After sharing the giant baba au rhum for two, we walked away content.

Lunch was a bit different and a bit disappointing. Again there was a fantastic terrine (the cornichons, however, were notably absent) and a superb saucisse lyonnaise with a flaky puff-pastry crust. But a pavé de romsteck (that’s the rump), though perfectly cooked, seemed lonely. The little potatoes served for the table, skins coated with coarse salt, were certainly tasty; but, as my friend pointed out, a golden gratin would have been fantastic instead of just passable. The potatoes were better with the roast cod, topped with grapefruit and zippy herbs. Too bad the cod itself was almost cold when it got to the table.

Saucisse lyonnaise en croute.

Our lunch reservation was for one o’clock, and so was everyone else’s, it seemed. That—as well as our being seated in the room downstairs, a steep flight of stairs away from the kitchen—is perhaps why the service was slow and the plates not promptly delivered.

I should say more about the rooms, both upstairs and downstairs, because here’s the thing: they are rather sad. The lighting is dim and yellowish. Exposed beams and stone walls, normally charming in old spaces, do nothing here; maybe that’s because the uncamouflaged exposed pipes, plastic ivy and unfinished curtains barely hiding holes in the wall are so distracting. Or maybe because on the lower level, the whole mess of a room is reflected by a floor-to-ceiling mirror.

In a nutshell: The service is a bit haphazard but incredibly friendly. The room is ugly, but the food is generally good and fairly priced. There is definitely much to like about Chez Grenouille, but that means liking it warts and all.

Price check: Lunch menus at 15 euros (plat only), 20 euros (entrée, plat) or 25 euros (entrée, plat, dessert). À la carte, entrées are 7–12 euros, plats are 20–32 euros, desserts 5–7 euros. Affordable wines.

If you like the sound of Chez Grenouille but want an address that will satisfy your carnivorous craving with more charm and panache:

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

By Barbra Austin

Sablé aux fraises with mascarpone.

La Régalade Saint-Honoré
123, rue St.-Honoré, in the 1st Arrondissement.
01 42 21 92 40.
Lunch and dinner, Mon–Fri.

The original La Régalade became well known under the ownership of Yves Camdeborde, whose career was one of many ships launched by Christian Constant. Instead of continuing in the galleys of haute cuisine, Camdeborde took his formidable talent to the next-to-last stop on metro line 4 and opened a bistro serving seasonally minded, generous food at gentle prices. He sold it to chef Bruno Doucet in 2004, but La Régalade has never stopped drawing praise, and foodies have never stopped making the pilgrimage to this early bastion of bistronomy.

Now right-bankers have a La Régalade of their own: Doucet just opened on rue St.-Honoré in the 1st—good news for those who want to fill their bellies near the old belly of Paris.

The new space doesn’t quite have the soul of the oddly shaped, slightly cramped location in the 14th, but the food certainly does. Anyone who has ever been to La Régalade will remember the terrine maison and cornichons left at the table for the taking, and I’m happy to say that this is still standard practice. Eat it, but don’t eat too much: a three-course meal is obligatory here, and you’ll want the space.

To start, I considered the scallops marinated in olive oil with basil and Parmesan, but I decided on green asparagus dressed with zippy herbs and mingled with sweet prawns—delicious. Morels, looking more like a side dish at a family dinner than a first course, sat in creamy sauce and demanded another basket of bread. The delicate tart of mackerel, with its verticality and squeeze-bottled sauces, seemed overdressed for this party, but its flavor was as down to earth and satisfying as everything else.

Two different bottles of pinot blanc from Domaine Ostertag, one of my favorite Alsatian producers, washed all of this down nicely.

For the main course, I again thought about seafood: both the daurade with piment d’Espelette and the cod with herbed broth and young spinach sounded good on a warm spring night, but I caved and ordered the braised paleron (chuck) of veal, served well glazed in its own sauce, with Provençal touches of tomato and basil. I could have eaten it with a spoon, it was that tender. A perfectly saignant (rare) entrecôte pleased the men at the table. The star, though, was the poitrine de porc with lentils. I had this dish at my last meal at the original location and was glad to see it on the menu here. Not for the cholesterol conscious, this thick slab of pork belly with beautifully crisp skin was as delicious as I had remembered.

Poitrine de porc with lentils.

I love rice pudding, but riz au lait after so much food is tough to swallow even if it is in the style of someone’s grandmother or mother. A sablé (sugar cookie) with strawberries and mascarpone was excellent, if not much lighter, and seasonal fruit appeared again in a pain perdu with strawberry-rhubarb compote. Dueling pots-de-crème of vanilla and chocolate were a bit precious in their presentation but nonetheless delicious.

These new digs are in a decidedly more fashionable quartier than the original, and there are signs—from some funky-shaped plates to the bright-striped banquette—that La Régalade is trying to fit in with its newer, posher neighborhood. In spite of that, the price of a meal remains low: three courses are just 33 euros, with a few supplements here and there for special items.

That’s a bargain for food this good in any neighborhood.

In a nutshell: La Régalade Saint-Honoré brings its classic neo-bistro fare to the 1st Arrondissement while maintaining 14th Arrondissement value.

Price check: Entrée, plat and dessert for 33 euros, with a wide range of wine prices.

If you like the sound of La Régalade Saint-Honoré but prefer your neo-bistros with a little outer-arrondissement cred:

La Régalade
49, ave Jean-Moulin, in the 14th.
01 45 45 68 58.

By Barbra Austin

Les Legumes.

Frédéric Simonin
25, rue Bayen, in the 17th Arrondissement.
Lunch and dinner, Tues–Sat.
01 45 74 74 74.

Walking into Frédéric Simonin, open less than a month, is a little like getting into a luxury sedan, all black and gray with polished chrome trim, where nothing rattles and the noise of the world is kept out.

The dining room may be black and white, but the food is in Technicolor. Simonin’s trademark starter, called simply Les Legumes, is a stunning assemblage of vegetables, some gently cooked and some raw, lightly dressed and artfully arranged on a thin pastry wafer, aromatic with oregano. It looks more like the work of a florist than a cook. A delicate, brightly seasoned salad of crabmeat and avocado was served in an egg-shaped vessel that opened along a Humpty Dumpty crack. The least successful offering, bright green asparagus and morels spread out on a plate among clouds of pearly foam and thin shavings of Parmesan, was short on salt if not beauty.

On the main side I chose the squid, described simply as “aux saveurs de la Riviera et basilic.” It was glowingly recommended by our waiter, and for good reason. Curled pieces of calamari swam among delicate zucchini, baby artichokes, white asparagus and black olives in a warm and piquant tomato bath. The only thing missing was an outdoor table with a view of the sea.

Calamars aux saveurs de la Riviera et basilic.

My friend was happy with the sweetbreads, with which morels made another appearance, but the quail won raves. With a light soy glaze, morsels of foie gras and julienne of white summer truffle, this little bird managed to be delicate in spite of itself. Unfortunately for my friend, who wanted to clean every bit of meat from the tiny bones, it is not acceptable to eat with one’s fingers at Frédéric Simonin.

Though it was hardly necessary, we ordered a side of Purée de Façon Joël Robuchon, a nod to Simonin’s old boss; I don’t know if it’s more accurate to describe it as potatoes enriched with butter or butter enriched with potatoes. Friends who have eaten at Robuchon’s restaurants many more times than I tell me that his influence can be seen all over Simonin’s menu. Whether you think this is a good or bad thing depends on your opinion of Robuchon, and how much you value originality in a chef.

Desserts were playful, which is just how I like them. La Fraise arrived in a glass bowl with a domed lid that opened to reveal macerated strawberries surrounded by a sweet herb sorbet and topped with a dollop of chartreuse sabayon. A tall and traditional-looking soufflé was untraditionally flavored with yuzu—a Japanese citrus. And the chocolate dessert, Le Payachoco, included biscuits “Oréo,” which I have never before seen spelled with an accent.

All of this, of course, comes at a price. Entrées range from 18 to 38 euros, main courses from 29 to 59 euros and desserts from 10 to 13 euros. But if I go back to Frédéric Simonin (and I hope to), I will order the three-course, 38 euro lunch menu. The choices are limited and perhaps slightly less spectacular, but it seems like a great deal to me. I only wonder if it will last, after the hype—and maybe the recession—has died.

Here’s hoping.

Price check: The 38 euro lunch menu is a bargain, but plan on spending 75–100 euros if you order à la carte. The excellent wine list is similarly expensive, though there are decent options on the low end.

In a nutshell: Frédéric Simonin is the posh table of the moment.

If you like the sound of Frédéric Simonin but want to see where he gets it from:

L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon
5, rue de Montalembert, in the 7th.
01 42 22 56 56.

By Barbra Austin

Olio Pane Vino
44, rue Coquillière, in the 1st Arrondissement.
01 42 85 27 33. Lunch: Mon–Sat.
Dinner: Thurs and Fri only.

Perhaps you don’t go out to dinner in Paris to eat pasta, but Parisians certainly do, and so does the young couple behind Hidden Kitchen, another GG2P fave. Where do they go when the craving strikes? Olio Pane Vino.

Afternoons, the long wooden tables are filled with colleagues on lunch break, solo diners and friends of Francesco Bertuna, the amiable owner with whom you can speak Italian, French or English (and who knows what else). Definitely talk to him, though; he’s charming.

At night the place is filled with convivial groups of friends and families serving one another salads from platters, passing plates of crostini, reaching for a slice of prosciutto. The arrival of steaming bowls of pasta briefly quiets the conversations, but then those are passed around too, and expressions of contentment begin to spread around the room.

Linguine with garlic, olive oil and red pepper.

On the printed menu you’ll see only first courses: antipasti, salads, plates of meat or cheese—most available in small or large portions for 8.50 to 12 euros. I love the crostino Toscano, spread with savory chicken liver purée, and the mozzarella that starred alongside grilled vegetable salad was fantastic, even if the vegetables were not. A special crostino with fava beans and ricotta salata was a good seasonal offering.

The mains (13–16.50 euros) are on the board and change daily. Or hourly, if Francesco’s fish supplier delivers only three kilos of clams instead of the promised six, as was the case at a recent lunch. Yes, we were sad not to have linguine alle vongole, but the bright sauce of leeks and goat cheese issued in its place was a fine substitution. I loved my penne with potatoes cacio e pepe—a classic Roman preparation with crumbled cheese and loads of black pepper. The flavorful seafood risotto was a surprising success, neither the rice nor the shellfish overcooked (someday I will achieve this at home). A tomato, fennel and Treviso sauce coated rolled-up noodles perfectly, but my favorite dish was the simplest: linguine with garlic, olive oil and peperoncino—crushed red pepper.

Crostino Toscano.

Dessert is sometimes difficult after pasta, but a sgroppino (lemon sorbet drowned with limoncello) will leave you refreshed.

In a nutshell: Everyone likes pasta, including the French, and Olio Pane Vino delivers, in a cool room filled with happy people.

Price check: Sharable starters run from 8.50 to 12 euros, pastas are 13–16.50, and unpretentious Italian wines, most well under 30 euros a bottle, make the check easy to swallow.

If you like the sound of Olio Pane Vino but really want to feel like you’re eating in someone’s home, try to book the tiny table d’hôte at La Tête dans les Olives, an olive oil shop run by Cédric Casanova, who supplies Alain Ducasse.

La Tête dans les Olives
2, rue Ste.-Marthe, in the 10th.
06 73 75 74 81.
Email: latable@latetedanslesolives.com

By Barbra Austin

House-made foie gras de canard (duck foie gras).

Willi’s Wine Bar
13, rue des Petits-Champs, in the 1st Arrondissement.
Lunch and dinner, Mon–Sat.
01 42 61 05 09.

It’s true, you will hear a lot of English spoken at Willi’s Wine Bar. But don’t hold that against it.

Owner Mark Williamson is English, and there’s no question that the address is a popular Anglophone hangout. But none of that changes the fact that Willi’s is a longstanding landmark on the Parisian restaurant map.

How longstanding? How’s 30 years? Since he opened in 1980 near the Palais Royal, Williamson has been a champion of small vignerons, the unsung regions and the astounding variety of wines found inside the Hexagon.

I’ve eaten at Willi’s many times since my first visit, in 2007 (full disclosure: I know Williamson), and I’m happy to say that the foie gras with poached egg, polenta and wild mushrooms that I had then still makes an occasional appearance on the menu. It wasn’t there on my last visit, but the stand-in, duck foie gras served with a peppery parsley salad and toast, was delicious. My other favorite starter is the warm quail salad, the crisp skin hiding rich meat, the bed of delicate greens wilting in the heat. There is typically a soup, this time a velvety cauliflower and leek velouté with arugula pesto, and a springy salad is available for the rabbits out there.

Spin the bottle: Willi's stocks wines from all over the world.

We washed down our first round with a gorgeous sparkling Vouvray from Huet while a 1999 Cornas from Allemand was breathing on the sidelines, waiting its turn.

The main courses, well-sourced meat or fish, are all cooked properly, if not spectacularly. My roast lamb, fragrant with rosemary, was tender and flavorful, and the fricassee of guinea hen won raves around the table.

If there’s any red wine left, you’d be wise to order the plate of four cheeses from legendary fromagerie Quatrehomme, though the croquante praliné, a sort of praline mousse, was unexpectedly good.

In general, the starters are the strong point of the menu. My favorite way to eat at Willi’s is to sit at the bar and graze on appetizers: unlike most bars à vins in Paris, this one actually has a bar, perfect for trying out some of the wines by the glass, and great for a solo meal or last-minute get-together.

The crowd, as I said, is heavily Anglophone, but you’ll also find locals, mostly regulars from what I can tell, and afternoons there are plenty of (mostly) men in suits who walked a few blocks from the trading floor at La Bourse—the French stock exchange—for lunch. The whole space was recently renovated, and the newly white walls, set off by ancient exposed beams, make a fine showcase for the Willi’s Wine Bar posters that are specially commissioned every year (souvenir shoppers take note).

I said before that Williamson is a champion of the wines of France, and it’s true. But he’s always looking for great wines from around the world, wines that say something about where they come from or the people who made them. You’ll see a number of international selections on the list, including the surprising bottle we finished with the other night. It was a sparkling wine, méthode champenoise, but it wasn’t from France or Italy or Spain or even the States.

It was from England. But don’t hold that against it.

Price check: Menus hover between 32 and 35 euros for combinations of entrée, plat and dessert. Wines run the gamut.

In a nutshell: Willi’s speaks the international language of wine fluently.

If you want an Anglo-friendly wine bar but prefer the left bank:

Fish la Boissonnerie
69, rue de Seine, in the 6th.
01 43 54 34 69.

By Barbra Austin of Serve It Forth

Lieu with cabbage and mushrooms.

Rino
46, rue Trousseau, in the 11th Arrondissement.
Tues-Sat, dinner; Wed–Sat, lunch. 01 48 06 95 85.

I am a latecomer to the Rino parade, having been away for nearly three weeks, when this little address received big press. In addition to snagging multiple hearts in Le Figaro, Rino earned the always trusty Alexander Lobrano's eloquent seal of approval, and GG2P contributor Meg Zimbeck was delighted by her dinner.

I was surprised, then, that my same-day request for a table on a Saturday night was so easily fulfilled. I’m going to chalk it up to the holiday weekend.

An open kitchen greets you when you walk in the door, with a couple of high tables along the wall. In the back of the room, bright red banquettes and wooden chairs seat only about 18 more in this pleasantly spare space.

In full view is chef Giovanni Passerini, an Italian-born autodidact, who put in time at a starred restaurant in Germany before working for Petter Nilsson at nearby La Gazzetta. Passerini's food is light and bright, his cooking respectful of the individual ingredients. It’s modern, not overly manipulated and beautiful to behold.

The Mediterranean influence is dominant in his menu, which is no-choice. A recent dinner started with escabèche of rouget (red mullet) with white asparagus and garlicky bread crumbs. It was utterly delicious. Next were sardine ravioli accompanied by an intense broth that contained nothing but fennel. “Pas de sel?” I asked Passerini. “Pas de sel,” he replied with a smile—just fennel put through a juicer and clarified with egg white like a traditional consommé. It was fantastic with the pasta, which was filled with flaked sardine filets and flecked with fresh dill.

Escabèche of rouget with white asparagus.

Then came a plump, barely cooked piece of cod with pil pil sauce (a Basque specialty) and chard. Rosy slices of duck followed, accompanied by a spear of roasted endive caramelized at the edges and flavored with a bit of orange. It worked.

The wine list is delivered in an envelope like an invitation to a party you will definitely want to attend. It’s a mix of French and Italian bottles, mostly organic or biodynamic, all priced below 40 euros. Pietro Russano is responsible for the wines and is also your waiter. You can trust him.

At dinner you can do four or six courses, for 38 or 50 euros, respectively. The two extras in the larger offering were the ravioli and a generous plate of three cheeses. Everyone gets dessert, though, which last Saturday was a “cheesecake” with blood orange ice cream and pistachio sauce. I use quotes here because it was actually a light-as-air mousse with an almost marshmallowy texture. It was the only point during the meal when I longed for a little more richness.

At lunch there is the option of two or three courses, outrageously reasonable at 18 and 22 euros. My girlfriends and I enjoyed restrained portions of gnocchi cacio e pepe (a pasta preparation available in every Roman trattoria) and a choice of mains: line-caught lieu or a falling-apart joue de boeuf (beef cheeks), each served with greener-than-spring cabbage and tender little mushrooms, all as memorable as the dinner a few nights before.

An Italian chef, an Italian sommelier, cacio e pepe on the menu . . . Is this an Italian restaurant? No, not exactly. Rino is not entirely French either, but it’s definitely the Paris restaurant of the moment.

Price check: Lunch is 18 or 22 euros for two or three courses, respectively; dinner, 38 or 50 euros for four or six courses. All wines are priced under 40 euros, with most under 30.

In a nutshell: Rino serves modern, market-based Mediterranean food. Book now or forever hold your peace.

If you like the sound of Rino but want to see where Passerini cut his teeth:

La Gazzetta
29, rue de Cotte, in the 12th.
01 43 47 47 05.

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.

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. Tues–Sat, lunch and dinner.

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 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

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. 01 42 72 13 77.
Wed–Sat, noon–11 p.m. Sun, noon–10 p.m.