The Best Steak Frites in Paris With Mark Bittman - Travel - New York Times

April 29, 2007

Choice Tables Paris

Steak Frites: Seeking the Best of a Classic

By MARK BITTMAN

STEAK frites is enough of a Paris institution that Le Relais de Venise — an institution in itself — serves nothing else. You go, are handed a menu with almost no choices on it, and are asked whether you want your steak cooked rare or some other, presumably perverse, level of doneness. (They're good about asking and they even tolerate well-done requests without scoffing, a sure sign they're accustomed to serving Americans.)

You start with a romaine salad with walnuts and horseradish vinaigrette, decent enough (included in the price, which is 22 euros, or about $30 at $1.38 to the euro). The beef is brought sliced, on a communal platter, and served with a secret herb-butter sauce (tarragon, shallots?), along with the very good fries, and then set to rest above votive candles on stations near each group of tables. You get more when you ask for it, usually with freshly made fries.

The place would be ideal if the steak itself were first-rate, but it was fun anyway. And it seemed to always be full despite its location in the easily reached but not-so-compelling Porte Maillot (271 Boulevard Pereire; 331-4574-2797). The wine list was tiny — precisely five choices — but the priciest, an 18-euro Bordeaux, suited the meat perfectly. The dessert list was extensive and I was pleasantly surprised by a sorbet of marc de Bourgogne — as good a post-fat palate cleanser as you could ask for. Profiteroles were above average, and the too-sweet vacherin was found irresistible by most of my party. As for ambiance: It was a jammed, not unattractive bistro, with amusingly erratic service.

But if Relais de Venise is a one-trick pony, a sort of burger-fries-malt joint writ large, the dish itself — steak frites — deserves to be taken seriously and, as it happens, the bistros and brasseries around town that do so tend to do well at many other things.

My current favorite — and it should be understood that this changes just about every time I go to Paris — is Le Sèvero, a tiny joint of about 30 seats in the 14th Arrondissment (8, rue des Plantes; 331-4540-4091). The descriptions I'd read of Sèvero called it a wine bar, and indeed the wine list is extensive and dominates the blackboard that covers one wall of the restaurant.

But this is inaccurate. Sèvero is, in fact, a meat restaurant of the highest order, one with a brilliant wine list, a charming owner, a skilled or at least attentive chef and an overall sensibility that veteran eaters will recognize as both unusual and wonderful. There is entrecôte on the menu, but after seeing the massive côtes de boeuf (for two), a friend and I opted for that. It was simply too gorgeous to pass up. Roasted, then sliced in the kitchen, served with the bone in, it came blood rare, beautifully marbled and delicious. (No one asked how we wanted it cooked, and this was common. Many Parisian restaurants assume you will take your steak “saignant,” which is seen as correct and translates as underdone. If you want it medium-rare, say “à point,” pronounced “ah pwan.”) The frites were hand cut, expertly fried and, as is so often the case in Paris (and throughout Europe), still made from decent potatoes; when you bite into them you're not just experiencing crunch but complex flavor.

There are other interesting things to eat at Sèvero. As an appetizer, a few slices of very good French ham — jambon d'Auvergne — were served with a chunk of butter and good bread. The steak tartare was exemplary, the best I'd eaten in years, perfectly seasoned, ground to order, made from delicious meat. Of the boudin noir, my notes say simply “ridiculous;” I have never been a blood sausage fan and this changed my mind. And the boneless fried pig's foot was crunchy-crisp, with that sticky fattiness that can make meat-eating such a pleasure.

You get the idea; this is not a place for vegetarians, or even for people with qualms about eating fat. (One might say it's a place for the politically incorrect, or vampires.) A joy, and not outrageously expensive: you can get by for 50 or 60 euros per person for three outstanding courses, as long as you drink moderately.

Not much effort is spent on ambiance or desserts (the crème caramel was better than average, though, and there were good cheeses), and no-smoking rules make Sèvero (and just about every other restaurant in town) far more pleasant than it was a couple of years ago. The most appealing part of the environment is the proprietor, William Bernet, who wears a hat, glasses, and a white coat over a sweater. He looks for all the world like a butcher from the old neighborhood (which he was, before opening Sèvero), and is about as pleasant as can be, even to ugly Americans.

Those who are looking for a slightly more balanced meal might head over to the 11th Arrondissment and Le Bistro Paul Bert (18, rue Paul Bert, 331-4372-2401). This is a calm, mostly unadorned restaurant with a welcoming atmosphere and extremely pleasant staff; the owner was eating at a nearby table and came over and chatted us up for no apparent reason. It's also relatively spacious, though some tables are better than others; one friend seated by a supporting column claims he had to wrap his arm around it in order to reach his food. (A planned renovation will soon remove the table by the column).

The 32 euro prix fixe menu offers pretty much everything the kitchen turns out except côtes de boeuf, though there are the usual supplementary charges for truffles and the like; it's a good buy. We began with fried eggs with truffles and cream, my idea of comfort food and done exquisitely. Salt cod cheeks with beets, broccoli, chopped eggs and artichoke was delicious (and almost as light a dish as I was able to sample on this trip).

The steak (entrecôte) frites was perfectly Parisian, the meat cooked saignant and therefore a tad chewy — which is appropriate — but super flavorful, and the fries just right. Beef cheeks braised in red wine, a real peasant dish, was served in a pot and quite fine, as was monkfish (lotte) with more delicious potatoes, these mashed. A plate of tender, bloody, absolutely stunning squab stole the show, served with a puree of turnips and parsnips.

The desserts were killer, especially the classic Paris-Brest, choux pastry filled with nut-flavored cream. I had been told by an expert that this was the best in town, and although I couldn't verify that, it was astonishing. It was also large enough for four; but since we were ordering prix fixe, everyone at the table could get one. The slightly salty Tarte Tatin was another good option.

The same owners run a fish restaurant next door — L'Ecailler du Bistrot — which serves straightforward, excellent and relatively inexpensive classics.

Chez Georges, which is located down the street from Le Relais de Venise (273 Boulevard Pereire; 331-4574-3100), has some distinct advantages: It's nowhere near as difficult to get into, it's open Sundays, always a plus in Paris, and it's a perfectly preserved 1920s bistro (about to be remodeled, but the owners have sworn they will not ruin it).

There are brass-and-glass fixtures, wood beams, leather banquettes and leather padded café chairs and loads of mirrors. It's not overly ornate, nor is it as tight a squeeze as some places, making it a very pleasant place to be. (There is seating upstairs but this is Siberia and should be avoided.)

The menu has no surprises and the food is straightforward and good. The specialty, when it comes to beef, is rib roast — you can get an entrecôte, but the standing rib is the beef they do best — and it's served with an over-the-top potato gratin. Many of the other dishes are standard old-fashioned bistro fare with above average execution: frogs' legs, herring, eggs poached in wine, jambon persillé, hachis Parmentier (a classy and delicious version of shepherd's pie), fried pig's foot, head cheese and so on. The cheese plate, from Marie Quatrehomme, was exemplary and worth the trip.

And the atmosphere was convivial; it was one of those places where the close quarters and lively atmosphere encouraged conversation. A woman who could not possibly have been younger than 85, sitting on the same banquette as I and two feet away, caught me eyeing her tête de veau and turned directly toward me, saying “Voulez-vous essayer?” I declined, out of some idiotic politeness. “Mais avez-vous peur?” she asked, with a grin. (“Are you afraid?”) This was more than I could bear, and I wound up sharing about a quarter of her pot — the best dish I ate there — in exchange for some of my precious potato gratin.

Desserts, as they are in so many classic bistros, are outrageous. Try the île flottante, a pouffy meringue that weighs about an ounce yet is the size of a football, drizzled with caramel and swimming in a little pool of crème anglaise. Mille-feuille with pastry cream was almost as good.

Finally there is Au Boeuf Couronné, in the 19 Arrondissment, an instantly likable and nicely informal restaurant that would rank higher on my list were it not a long metro or cab ride from anywhere else you might be — the rough equivalent of going deep into Brooklyn from Midtown (188 Avenue Jean-Jaurès; 331-4239-4444). Once there, you won't regret it. It's an old place — more than a hundred years old — with an entry through a wooden revolving door, a sense of spaciousness, cushy leather banquettes and real leather chairs. The service appeared indifferent, but in reality I was sold on a couple of bottles of wine that were less expensive than what I was prepared to order — a rare occurrence — with happy results.

Overall, the food is terrific. Nearly everyone begins with oysters, not a bad idea. There are some innocuous offerings like smoked salmon and a pâté de foie gras, but the bolder ones are nearly perfect. Try the marrow bones — three or four huge ones, with tons of marrow and good salt and toast, for 10.90 euros — or the meaty, tasty, escargot with loads of parsley-garlic butter.

The meat options are myriad and confusing. There is entrecôte, rump, faux filet, onglet (hanger) and a few others. Fortunately my party totaled six, so we were able to try just about all of them, and we unanimously voted the rump (21 euros; figure about 50 euros for a full meal) as the cut to order. It wasn't as moist as some of the others, but it was both firm and tender, with wonderful flavor and outstanding chew. All were served with pommes soufflées, the balloon-like über-fries that take a little more effort to make but no more to eat, and are an absolute delight, making classic steak frites even a little bit better.