Le Relais de l'Entrecôte

A friend who knows Paris better than I do put Le Relais de l'Entrecôte at the top of a list of three. He was right, as he often is.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: queues out the door on Rue Marbeuf. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with shrimp cocktail with proper horseradish, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a Burgundy that arrived too cold and rewarded patience, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: entrecôte with secret sauce, the dish that puts Le Relais de l'Entrecôte on every short list. It arrived faintly hissing on a heated plate, the kind of small detail that tells you the kitchen still cares about the last twenty seconds before service. The signature touch — no menu — just the steak, twice — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for creamed spinach so rich it should embarrass us and asparagus with hollandaise. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was a slab of New York cheesecake, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

A perfect Sunday lunch, which is what I came for.