Headed to Paris soon? Our restaurant critic has a dozen standout dining suggestions

Los Angeles Times

2 days ago

I'm recently returned from two weeks in Paris for vacation (planned for the window right before so many restaurants close for a break in August), and I didn't even pretend I intended to give myself a break from the business of dining. It's Paris. Of course I was going all in, particularly since I hadn't been to France in over a decade.
The research — the brooding over all the possibilities — is always part of the fun. Beyond suggestions from Parisian friends, there was much triangulating of recommendations, especially among the Paris By Mouth newsletter, Lindsey Tramuta (who writes for many English language publications and wrote the 'Eater Guide to Paris' book released in April) and David Lebovitz's very popular newsletter.
Nothing about the following list is complete, but as inspirations for your own travels I pared two weeks down to a dozen Paris suggestions, plus thoughts on a few of the city's geekiest coffee bars.
Over the year and a half I traveled through our state to write the 101 Best Restaurants in California guide, I kept wishing to experience a tasting-menu restaurant that thrillingly centers vegetables on the plate. Excellent places like Kismet and RVR include intricately composed dishes on their menus that roll with the seasons. I'm thinking, though, of a kitchen with a revolutionary streak, where the emphasis on plant-based cooking not only feels unapologetic but galvanizing, rattling diners awake to the delicious, sustainable-minded possibilities of decentering meat in one of the world's great growing climates.
That restaurant doesn't exist yet in California. But it does in Paris.
Manon Fleury opened Datil, a 33-seat railroad-style space in the 3rd arrondissement, in September 2023. Her restaurant's website details commitments that will sound familiar to Californian restaurant obsessives: how the staff (predominantly women) foster close relationships to producers, how the menu strictly reflects what's coming from the meals, the low-waste approach.
So maybe, in my jadedness, I was caught off-guard by the lyricism of the five-course lunch. Beautiful in its garden colors and juxtaposing crunchy and yielding textures, but not showy or pushy. The kind of food where I found myself leaning toward what I was eating, like bending closer to catch what my smartest friend was saying at a party.
To describe the heart of the meal: After crackery nibbles, and a lovely flan whose flavors brought to mind white gazpacho, came porridge made using white rice from the coastal southern region of Camargue, where the grain (including a famous red strain) has been grown since the 13th century. It was crowned with an improvisational arrangement of tomatoes and other summery fruits and vegetables, and a gloss of herb oil. It was filling and comforting and also, given all the pointy vegetals flavors, enthralling.
Then came a stunning savory play on a mille-feuille formed from sinewy, perfectly salted blanched zucchini. Its layers hid flaked morsels of skate wing — the kitchen is roughly 85 percent plant-based but seafood or meat might be used sparingly — with a brunoise of zucchini, parsley and shallots. Servers swooped in with two sauces poured from metal carafes: a warm beurre blanc tensed with juiced kumquat and cider vinaigrette, and a cool sorrel sauce that clung to the butter in swirls. Another sauce made from plums already lurked underneath. So many harmonies to discern.
Lastly, some straight-up indulgence: a boozy, plush savarin, about the size of a Krispy Kreme doughnut, domed with half of a poached and lightly charred apricot.
All the reasons to travel — to know a place while better seeing ourselves, and who and what we might be — came to bear in this emotionally intelligent meal. Chefs in California could, and should, be cooking like this.
Two fantastic bistros: Friends urged that while Le Bistrot Paul Bert has become a de-facto option for visitors over the last decade (and I have, in the past, sopped up its île flottante until I indeed floated away), I should check out Bistrot des Tournelles in the 4th for a more intimate, relaxed but still bullseye bistro dinner. They were right. Surprise hit? The gushing, textbook chicken Cordon bleu.
Harder to book but worth the effort: Chez Georges at 1 Rue du Mail. (I mention the address specifically because there other similarly named restaurants, but this is the one you want.) Jean-Gabriel de Bueil leads a suave cast of characters in a rowdy, cramped, exhilarating room. Squint at the menu written in tiny handwritten cursive and pick out salade frisée, ris de veau, cote d'agneau grillé and the must-have tarte tatin.
My favorite Lebanese meal: If you read my work, you know I'm looking out for Lebanese restaurants wherever I go in the world. Part of my time in Paris was with my Lebanese crew, and among several meals we agreed hands-down the best was Kubri, the deservedly lauded draw in the 11th run by Ingrid and Mayfrid Chehlaoui and chef Rita Higgins Akar. So, so rarely does a Lebanese kitchen find balance between the traditional dishes (many of which have simple ingredients that demand technique) and innovation (which often produces aberrations that have no relation to the original). This one nails the midpoint, with wonders like a charred wedge of cabbage rubbed in Aleppo pepper butter and pummeled with diced pickled apricot, shanklish (crumbly aged cheese) and salty-sugary peanuts modeled after a snack in Lebanon called Cri-Cri. The only restaurant to which I circled back for a second meal.
Seafood for a casual lunch: Septime, the modern bastion of bistronomy, rides on its fame and is so difficult to book. Show up for lunch at its next-door seafood restaurant, Clamato, which doesn't take reservations. I'd been warned about long waits, but we managed to walk right in on a summer weekday at 1:15 p.m. Beautiful plates of fish and shellfish from the French coast, most seasoned with restraint and a nod to Japan here and there. Loved the take on the bountiful Provençal grand aioli with a slab of pollock and big hunks of blanched fennel, carrots and zucchini. (I was continually reminded that Parisians could teach us how to blanch vegetables to just-tender, properly seasoned deliciousness.)
Seafood for a fancier night out: Restaurant Le Duc, in the 14th and around since the late 1960s, personifies midcentury Parisian elegance: rich wood paneling, career servers with sly humor, simple and impeccable seafood. A lovely crab salad, cleaned entirely of shell, segued to a gorgeous, finely textured sole meunière presented in a copper pan before filleting. Among desserts displayed on a roving cart, home in on crunching, gorgeously proportioned mille-feuille.
The three-star blowout: Plan half a year ahead to score a reservation at Plénitude, the ne-plus-ultra splurge (as in €345 per person) in the Cheval Blanc hotel, with its almost comically scenic perch at the edge of the Seine overlooking the Pont-Neuf bridge. Arnaud Donckele is a chef of the moment; Plénitude has all the global accolades. For fine-dining devotees, I say it's worth the investment. Much has already been written about Donckele's mastery over sauces, and I love how servers present both a side of the sauce to taste on its own — which I sometimes prized even more than with other elements on the plate — and a booklet that details the dizzying number of ingredients they contain. (So many wild vinegars!) The staff move as one, with the synchronized precision of a Rolex. As is expected during the loftiest modern tasting-menu dinners, a little fun comes into play: Diners might move location for one course, and those who opt for a cheese course rise from their chairs to make selections from a walk-in cabinet that opens at the end of one room. The whole experiences feels at once very worldly and very Parisian.
Speaking of cheese: Plenty of people visit Paris for the patisseries. I'm with y'all (the apricot tart at Du Pain et Des Idées forever), but I come even more for the fromageries. A group of us signed up for a cheese tasting experience, via Paris by Mouth, with Jennifer Greco, an American who has lived in France for decades and dedicated her curiosity to all things fromage. We begin at Laurent Dubois, her favorite cheese shop in Paris, and Greco is excellent about adapting a selection to the group's interests and knowledge levels. I like bloomy rinds (like Brie de Meaux and the runnier, funkier specimens, and she obliged — while steering us towards the sublimely nutty Comtés the shop is known for carrying. We walked a few minutes to a space where we slowly tasted through our loot, with plenty of bread and appropriate wines. What an incredible afternoon, and believe me, it counts as a meal.
France meets Japan: Japan has been a major influence on aspects of French dining for over 50 years, and chefs in Paris, more than ever it feels like, graft the two cultures and cuisines. One newer great: Maison by Sota Atsumi in the 11th, also known as Maison and Maison Sota. Atsumi earned fan as the chef at Clown Bar, and his own tasting-menu restaurant is warm and communal: Most diners sit either along the counter or at a comfortable, room-length table. The air smells of woodsmoke, a fascinating counterpoint (in a way that particular fragrance usually engenders casual and rustic) to the meticulous compositions in large ceramics that define the aesthetic. But all the foams and saucy dots and tiny flowers trick the mind after all: The flavors are shockingly soulful.
A standout Moroccan restaurant: Marie-Jose Mimoun waves you to a table at Le Tagine in the 11th, and for a few hours you sort of absorb into the living entity of her dining room, flowing with the pace. I was sad that, pre-vacation, she had stopped making a special lamb and peach tagine advertised on a placard, but a variation with the meat flavored with raisins, onions, honey and almonds was still among the best tagines I've tasted outside Morocco. Ditto the couscous, served with plenty of broth and smoky harissa full of tightly knotted spices. Great natural-leaning wine list too.
The dependable crêpe destination: Breizh Cafe has 13 locations around Paris, a chain by any standard, but it was recommended in so many publications it felt like the right recommendation for a group outing one night. We gathered at the location in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, and we had the reliable experience we needed. The savory galette with ham, egg and Comté delivered lacy texture and deep buckwheat flavor (as is traditional in Brittany, where the company originates), and a sweet crêpes Suzette, flambéed with Grand Marnier, flickered with a taut dash of yuzu as well. To drink: dry pear cider.
Perfect end-of-the-trip pizza: So many friends mentioned Oobatz, a pizza restaurant by Maine native Dan Pearson in collaboration with the owners of Le Rigmarole (roundly lauded but not open during my trip). I thought that the last thing I wanted in Paris was pizza. And then, after two weeks of nonstop eating and drinking, my partner and I looked at each other the evening after a wine-soaked lunch and said, 'Yeah, let's go have pizza.' So good. Pearson uses a sourdough base for his bready crusts; they'd be well regarded anywhere in America. Bonus that the menu lists a 'chef du surprise' pie; ours was a white pie dotted with meaty splotches of duck ragu.
I recommend the list that Lindsey Trumata co-wrote for Conde Nast Traveler for a broader perspective on drinking coffee in Paris, but these three coffee bars stood out for me:
Emily Wilson of The Angel newsletter has a very trustworthy list of Paris recommendations. She directed me to Téléscope Cafe, presided over by Nicolas Clerc, regarded by many as the (still young) godfather of Paris's fourth-wave coffee movement — by which I'll define as bars dedicated to working with roasters (or roasting their own beans) with direct relationships to farmers and an emphasis on unusually expressive coffees. Wilson loves Clerc's iced coffee; I admire his long list of pour over options listed by growing region and tasting notes in order of intensity. It was my first coffee stop on the trip, and the place to which I most returned. His banana bread with salted butter was, most days, the only breakfast I needed.
The most dedicated coffee nerds should plan ahead for Substance Café, a reservations-only bar run by barista Joachim Morceau and his wife Alexandrine. Joachim has showmanship, charming customers from behind the counter but he's intensely serious about his craft. (The couple roasts their own beans.) He often encourages every person to start with one featured coffee to grasp individual tastes, and then he starts making excellent suggestions, equally compelling for pour overs or milky espresso drinks.
Substance is one of those places where customers compare notes on where else they're drinking coffee in Paris, and based on those conversations I ended up at Tiba, a tiny shop that gets intensely busy on the weekends. Kevin Cerqueira, as friendly as he is passionate, mans the place by himself. He wasn't brewing a variety of Colombian beans roasted by local company Datura, but based on my very specific predlictions in coffee (notes dried fruits and booze) I bought them from his supply … and I already have an order in for four more boxes.