Bistrot Paul Bert

It rained the whole afternoon I spent at Bistrot Paul Bert, and I cannot now imagine eating there in any other weather.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: eleventh, zinc bar, regulars and tourists in equal share. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with a small dish of marinated white anchovies, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered an Argentine malbec the waiter chose for me, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: pavé de boeuf, the dish that puts Bistrot Paul Bert on every short list. It was, frankly, the best version of this cut I have had this year. The signature touch — Paris-Brest after, always — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for potato gratin with a dark crust and fried okra and a dab of remoulade. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was tiramisu, just barely too much, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

If you are passing through Paris, do not pass Bistrot Paul Bert by.