L'Ami Louis

Some rooms tell you exactly what to order the moment you sit down. L'Ami Louis, in Paris, is one of them.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: soot-darkened bistro Mitterrand loved. 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 half-dozen oysters from the raw bar, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a quiet Brunello from the back of the list, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: côte de boeuf, the dish that puts L'Ami Louis on every short list. It was, frankly, the best version of this cut I have had this year. The signature touch — the foie gras the size of a phone book — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for broiled tomato with a breadcrumb cap and hash browns the size of a hubcap. 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.

Some places earn their reputation. L'Ami Louis earns it twice over.