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 tomato salad heavy with red onion and oregano, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered an Oregon pinot, against the steak waiter's better judgement, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: onglet, the dish that puts Le Severo on every short list. The seasoning was simple — salt, pepper, restraint — and it was the right call. 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 pommes Anna 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 a slab of New York cheesecake, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

I paid the bill, walked out into the Paris evening, and put the address back into the notebook with a star next to it.