Le Severo

There are restaurants you visit and restaurants you return to. Le Severo is, after one quiet Sunday in Paris, very much the second kind.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: fourteenth-arrondissement neighborhood room, William Bernet at the pass. 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 wedge of iceberg with blue cheese, 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: onglet, the dish that puts Le Severo on every short list. There was a thumb of butter melting into the cross-hatch, and a single sprig of thyme on top, and not one thing more. The signature touch — the chalkboard wine list and the fries — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for wild mushrooms in butter and grilled radicchio with anchovy butter. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was a wedge of chocolate cake to share, fork divided, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

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