L'Ami Louis

It rained the whole afternoon I spent at L'Ami Louis, and I cannot now imagine eating there in any other weather.

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 country pâté with cornichons, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a glass of port to finish, and then another, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: côte de boeuf, the dish that puts L'Ami Louis on every short list. The crust was the colour of dark mahogany, and the inside was a confident, even pink the whole way through. 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 grilled radicchio with anchovy butter and pommes Anna. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was the bread pudding with bourbon sauce, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

If you are passing through Paris, do not pass L'Ami Louis by.