Au Bourguignon du Marais in Paris -- Restaurant Review

For directions, reservations click on this link Au Bourguignon du Marais

Rating Standards: 5-Stars = Extraordinary; 4-Stars = Excellent; 3-Stars = Average; 2-Stars = Fair; 1-Star = Poor € = Inexpensive: 30€ and under; €€ = Moderate: 31€-49€; €€€ = Expensive: €50 -75; €€€€ = Very Expensive: more than €76 (prices based on minimum 2-courses)

1-Bell = Pleasantly quiet (less than 65 decibels); 2-Bells = Can talk easily (65-70); 3-Bells = Talking normally gets difficult (70-80); 4-Bells = Can talk only in raised voices (75-90); BOMB = Too noisy for normal conversation (90+)

4.5 - stars ...................€€................................. 3-🔔 

Opened in January 2006, this restaurant has passed hands over the years, but its culinary soul hasn’t budged. The food remains steadfastly classic—comforting, hearty, and unapologetically French.

For ages, I strolled past without a second glance. Too big, too many tourists, I thought—surely it was the kind of place where menus came laminated. Then a friend insisted I try it. His timing? Mid-summer. Boeuf Bourguignon, it’s not exactly what I crave when the air feels like a sauna. There are limits to devotion, and mine stop at boiling stew in July.

So I waited. When the first crisp autumn air arrived, I finally gathered a group of friends. That’s when I learned one of them had been coming here for years—and, in fact, it had been her late husband’s favorite spot. Suddenly, the evening wasn’t just a meal, but a mix of nostalgia, comfort food, and the dawning realization that maybe I shouldn’t judge restaurants solely by the density of selfie sticks outside.

As I mentioned, this is no hole-in-the-wall—it’s a sizeable operation, with plenty of tables spilling onto the terrace and even more tucked inside. Think classic French brasserie style: tables close enough for eavesdropping, but not so tight you risk knocking elbows with your neighbor every time you reach for the bread basket.

Now, full disclosure: I’ll only review what we actually ate. (I’ve always found it suspicious when critics manage to review the entire menu in one sitting—unless they brought a rugby team along.)

There were four of us at the table. Three of us did the obvious thing and ordered the Boeuf Bourguignon—after all, that’s the house specialty and, frankly, the reason anyone comes here. JJ, however, is not a big meat eater, he went for the octopus instead.

CARPACCIO DE TOMATES ANCIENNES ET BURRATINA, PESTO BASILIC.

The dish arrived looking like it had stepped straight out of a glossy cookbook—tomatoes stacked like jewels, crowned with a big cloud of burrata. The tomatoes themselves were spectacular: ripe, bursting with flavor, the kind that makes you wonder why we even bother with supermarket varieties. The burrata was all silk and cream, the kind you want to spread on everything in sight. A dollop of sweet balsamic tied it together, adding just the right wink of acidity.

Honestly, there’s nothing to critique here. It’s the sort of dish that proves the oldest kitchen cliché true: when the ingredients are this good, all the chef really needs to do is not mess them up. Luckily, they didn’t.

Let me tell you something about Boeuf Bourguignon. My relationship with it is... complicated. It's supposed to be this magical, slow-cooked masterpiece, but let's be real—most of the time, it's just beef stew with an identity crisis. 

And, the star of the show "Boeuf Bourguignon".  It was cooked, I assume, in a cocotte. A cocotte is a small lidded French casserole dish, (a cast iron or ceramic, pot for slow-cooked or oven-baked dishes), that it was served in.  

I often find that many places take short-cuts with their boeuf bourguignon, hence, the flavors can be off putting since the wine imparts an acrid flavor, by using a young wine with lots of tannin, not cooking out the alcohol in the wine long enough. Bœuf bourguignon turns acidic if the wine is too harsh as well, and if the sauce isn’t cooked down enough, or there’s too much tomato/acid without enough fat or sweetness to balance.

So when this little cast-iron pot arrived looking all innocent and cozy, I was ready for disappointment. I always taste the soup/sauce first. My spoon went in, and I almost fell out of my chair. This wasn't just good; it was really, really good. The sauce was a perfect, velvety dream—not a hint of bitterness. The meat was so tender it felt like it was apologetically falling apart on my tongue. The potatoes were perfect, the carrots sweet, and the bacon? Pure little nuggets of heaven.

Honestly, I'm not even kidding. This is, without a doubt, the best Boeuf Bourguignon I have ever had in Paris. It’s not a winner. It’s a miracle.

We ordered their Brouilly, which is my favorite red wine and is typically served chilled, probably why I like it. I can't tell you the vintage since it was their "house wine", but I can describe what Brouilly is.

Brouilly is a French red wine from the Beaujolais region, made from the Gamay grape, known for being the fruitiest and fullest-bodied of the Beaujolais crus, with flavors of red berries, plums, and a touch of minerality. In addition to these qualities, it’s also one of the few red wines often served slightly chilled (around 12–14°C / 54–57°F), because the light body, bright acidity, and juicy fruit flavors become fresher and more vibrant when cool, making it especially refreshing to drink.

SUMMARY 

I'll be honest, I arrived with a healthy dose of skepticism. You know the type of place—the kind that looks a little too friendly, a little too close to a major landmark, a little too… touristy. My culinary antennae were twitching, fully prepared for a disappointing, over-priced meal.

But then, the food arrived. And what followed was a masterclass in how wrong a cynical food critic "comme moi" can be. The menu promised simplicity, and it delivered, but with an execution that was nothing short of brilliant. This is not the place for hushed whispers and tiny, artistic portions. This is a restaurant for people who want good, honest food.

Although they have seafood and poultry on the menu, the star of the show was, of course, the Boeuf Bourguignon. It’s what they’re known for, and for good reason. It was so impossibly rich and soul-satisfying that by the time I was finished, the very idea of ordering dessert was a distant, laughable memory. The boeuf was a force of nature, and it won.

The verdict? This isn't haute cuisine nor is it a romantic restaurant; it's home cooking that has clearly graduated with honors. Service was excellent, and although we spoke to the staff in french, they all speak english.

Would I go back? Absolutely. In fact, I'm already planning my next trip. I'll just skip one meal that day.

Lunch for 4-people, we had: 1-bottle of water, 1-carafe of Brouilly, 1-Carpaccio tomates, 1-Millefeuille de Saumon, 3-boeuf bourguignon, an 1-Poulpe grille our bill came to €175 or about €44 per person. 

PIERROT -- Restaurant Review

 

For address, directions, menu and to make reservations, click on link https://www.thefork.com/restaurant/pierrot-r464375 

Rating Standards: 5-Stars = Extraordinary; 4-Stars = Excellent; 3-Stars = Average; 2-Stars = Fair; 1-Star = Poor € = Inexpensive: 30€ and under; €€ = Moderate: 31€-49€; €€€ = Expensive: €50 -75; €€€€ = Very Expensive: more than €76 (prices based on minimum 2-courses)

1-Bell = Pleasantly quiet (less than 65 decibels); 2-Bells = Can talk easily (65-70); 3-Bells = Talking normally gets difficult (70-80); 4-Bells = Can talk only in raised voices (75-90); BOMB = Too noisy for normal conversation (90+)

3.75 - stars ...................€€€................................. 3-🔔 

We were meeting friends and chose this restaurant mainly because one of them has been coming here for 15 years, and it’s in a convenient location for all of us.

I’ll be honest—I didn’t arrive with particularly high expectations for this restaurant. At first glance, it looks like an ordinary café, nothing that immediately stands out. But the impression shifted the moment I stepped inside. The tables were neatly dressed with cloth placemats and linen napkins, giving it a touch more refinement than the casual al fresco setups outside.  Another reassuring sign: the room was buzzing, a lively mix of locals and tourists, drawn in by the constant foot traffic of this neighborhood.

The space itself is deceiving. From the street it seems modest, but step further in and you realize it can actually accommodate quite a number of diners. Again, I remind myself—I didn’t come in expecting much.

We settled in and began with apéritifs: JJ ordered a pastis, I went with a Hugo Spritz brightened by a splash of mint syrup, and the girls shared a bottle of Sancerre. The menu was straightforward—classic French bistro fare, simple and unfussy.

While dining outside had its appeal, rue Étienne Marcel is a bit too busy for leisurely conversation, so we opted for the quieter interior. Inside felt a touch more formal anyway, which suited the evening.

Note: I’ll only be reviewing the dishes I personally tried.

 Escargot To begin, I leaned   into tradition and ordered the   escargots—six, not twelve,   since I’m not a "big eater."   What arrived, however, was   perhaps the tidiest version of   the dish I’ve ever seen. Each   snail was nestled neatly back   into its shell, the sauce   unusually thick, contained   rather than spilling over.

 Normally, I expect the   theatrical arrival of escargots   in their dimpled pan, the   garlicky butter sizzling and   pooling, just begging to be mopped up with hunks of bread. After all, isn’t the sauce half the pleasure? Here, though, the kitchen had taken a different approach—the butter thickened, almost glossy, clinging politely instead of overflowing.

The first bite was a pleasant surprise: the snail itself had a pleasing heft, tender yet substantial, while the sauce offered a richness without excess. It was elegant, restrained—well executed, if a touch too disciplined for my taste.

Lamb Steak
I was assuming that the lamb came from Metro "A Costco for chefs". I was pleasantly surprised, the lamb was, quite frankly, outstanding—easily among the best I’ve had. Perfectly charred on the outside, the meat revealed a tender interior cooked precisely à point (medium rare), just as I like it. Every bite struck that elusive balance of smoky depth and natural richness. Sometimes it's all about the cooking, n'est-ce pas?

The accompaniments were refreshingly unadorned: sautéed spinach, pure and untouched by excess, and potatoes cooked with precision, their simplicity a testament to confidence in the kitchen.

In many ways, restraint is the greater challenge. Without elaborate sauces or flashy garnishes, there’s nowhere to hide—flavors must stand on their own. Here, they did, and beautifully so. The dish was a quiet triumph in simplicity, allowing the ingredients to speak clearly and deliciously for themselves.

Fruit Bowl

For dessert, JJ and I shared the fruit bowl—a study in simplicity. A mix of strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries arrived lightly dusted with sugar. Nothing more, nothing less.

On a warm Saturday evening, it was exactly what it needed to be: refreshing, clean, and unpretentious. The fruit was ripe and flavorful, allowed to shine without embellishment. Sometimes, the quietest ending to a meal is also the most satisfying.

Domaine de Beaurepaire 2023 “Billet Doux”

A crisp, cool-climate Semillon–Sauvignon Blanc blend with aromas of lemon, lime, tropical hints, and a touch of star anise. The palate is fresh and clean with citrus and melon, finishing bright and mouthwatering. Best served chilled, it pairs beautifully with seafood, goat cheese, and light antipasti. Drink now for its vibrancy or cellar up to 10 years.

Tasting Note Summary

**Nose - Lemon, lime, tropical accents, star anise

**Palate - Fresh citrus, melon, clean, zest-driven

**Finish - Crisp, mouthwatering, lingering

**Pairings - Seafood, goat cheese, antipasti, scallops

**Serving - Chill to ~10 °C

**Cellaring - Excellent in near term; potential up to ~10 years

SUMMARY 

I’ll admit, my expectations walking into this café-bistro were modest at best. In high-traffic neighborhoods, too often the food feels secondary to convenience—ready-made, reheated, and dressed up for the passing crowd. This place, however, proved me wrong.

Family-owned and run, the restaurant radiates a warmth that chain establishments simply can’t replicate. The owner greeted guests himself, doubling as maître d’, while his son moved deftly between server and busser. That personal touch set the tone for the evening.

The meal began with escargots—tidy, well-prepared, though ultimately conventional. Then came the standout: lamb steaks cooked to perfection, beautifully charred yet tender, served simply but with confidence. Dessert was a bowl of fresh berries, dusted with sugar—a refreshing finale on a warm evening.

If there was a flaw, it lay in the timing. The gap between entrée and main stretched longer than it should have, testing our patience. Yet the genuine kindness of the staff helped ease the wait, reminding us that hospitality is more than precision.

All told, the experience was far better than anticipated: honest food, a welcoming atmosphere, and the charm of a family operation. Would I return? Without hesitation.

Verdict: A modest café-bistro that surprises with heartfelt cooking and warm service—proof that simplicity, done well, still shines.

For 4-people, we had 2-aperitifs, 2-bottles of wine €36 each. 4-appetizers, 4-plats, and 3 desserts our total bill came to €308.50 or €77.13 each. 

NOTE: I rated it as "three € rating cost"—which translates to ‘expensive.’ However, the prices for the main dishes were actually very reasonable; my overall cost rating only skewed higher because we ordered two bottles of wine.

DINING SCAMS

 

Dining scams aren’t unique to Paris—they thrive in every major city where tourists flock. When we travel, we tend to loosen up, relax our vigilance, and soak in the atmosphere. But alongside cultural quirks and the occasional pickpocket, the dining table can also hide its own little traps.

Paris, of course, is no exception. The city’s cafés and restaurants are legendary, but they also come with their share of “gotchas.” These aren’t always outright cons, but subtle maneuvers that catch the uninitiated off guard. And while being fluent in French helps, even a well-practiced accent won’t always protect you if you wander into the wrong café on the wrong square. Tourist-heavy areas are particularly ripe for such tricks, where menus, customs, and expectations don’t always align.

Here are the most common ones to watch out for

Bill & Pricing Tricks Every Traveler Should Know

Even in a city as gastronomically revered as Paris, the table can sometimes be set with a few hidden snares. Most aren’t outright cons, but rather subtle maneuvers that catch tourists off guard. Here are the classics to watch for:

Tourist Menu Upcharge

Near hotspots like the Champs-Élysées, Eiffel Tower, and Montmartre, some cafés still try the old bait-and-switch: one price posted outside, a higher one slipped into the English menu inside. In France, that’s not just cheeky—it’s illegal. The law requires identical pricing across all menus, regardless of language. Charging more to tourists is considered fraud and can draw fines or sanctions. My rule? If I spot such a discrepancy, I walk out. Trying to argue is often futile; the waiter who spoke flawless English when taking your order may suddenly “forget” the language. I’ve even seen French Canadians—native French speakers—caught in this same web.

Extra Bread & Water Charges

Bread, that most sacred of Parisian table companions, is almost always included. A basket of baguette slices isn’t a luxury—it’s custom. But dress it up with “artisanal” labels, infused oils, or fancy butter, and suddenly it sneaks onto the bill. Always check.

Water follows the same script. By law, a carafe of tap water (carafe d’eau) is free. Yet some cafés will feign confusion and press you toward bottled flat or sparkling. To sidestep the ruse, simply ask for une carafe d’eau. If you want to make the waiter smile (or roll his eyes), order un Château la Pompe—a tongue-in-cheek nickname for tap water dressed up like a grand cru.

Tip Confusion

French law requires that service (around 15%) be included in all menu prices. Still, a few opportunistic servers tell tourists “service not included,” hoping for double tips. Don’t fall for it—gratuity is optional, not obligatory. A few coins or rounding up the bill is perfectly polite. For more detailed information, click on link Tipping in Paris

A Personal Lesson

When I first moved to Paris nearly two decades ago, my French was clumsy at best. Over drinks at a neighborhood café—not even in a tourist area—I handed over a €50 note to cover an €18 tab. The waiter returned just €2 in change. My friends confirmed the shortfall, and only then did he sheepishly “correct his mistake.” It wasn’t an accident; it was a test of whether the foreigner at the table was paying attention.

Bottom Line

Always check your bill, always count your change. This isn’t uniquely Parisian—plenty of U.S. restaurants pull similar stunts. But when you’re traveling, your guard is often down, and that’s when small oversights can add up. Stay aware, and you’ll save both euros and aggravation—leaving more room to savor the parts of Paris dining that truly are unforgettable.

Food & Drink Traps

Even in Paris, the city where café culture is an art form, there are a few dining quirks that can catch visitors off guard. Think of them less as scandals and more as cultural fine print worth knowing.

Overpriced Drinks at Cafés

The same coffee costs 3 different prices depending on where you drink it:

• Standing at the bar (cheapest)
• Sitting inside (higher)
• Sitting on the terrace (most expensive)
• Tourists often don’t know this and get shocked by terrace prices.

It’s perfectly legal as long as the price differences are clearly displayed

The Disappearing Menu of the Day

The formule or menu du jour—a fixed-price lunch special—remains one of the best bargains in French dining. It often bundles an entrée and main, or main and dessert, into a single, cost-effective price, with the option of all three courses if you’re hungry. But here’s the catch: some waiters won’t mention it, especially to tourists, and instead nudge you toward ordering à la carte, which inevitably costs more. The solution is simple: always ask, “Est-ce qu’il y a une formule aujourd’hui ?”—Is there a set menu today? Odds are, it’s the smartest order you’ll make.

Menu Misleads & Hidden Extras

Even in Paris, where dining is almost a civic religion, not every café or restaurant plays fair—particularly in high-traffic tourist zones. Here are a few classic “traps” to watch for:

The Wine “Help”

Ordering wine in Paris should be a joy, but it’s also one of the easiest ways to get upsold. Ask vaguely for “a glass of white,” and don’t be surprised if what lands on your table is one of the priciest pours on the list. Sometimes, the waiter will propose a bottle “just right for you,” only for you to discover it’s €100, not the €25 you imagined which has happened to us til this day! The rule is simple: always ask to see the wine list, even in the most casual café.

When Sodas Cost More Than Wine

It often shocks visitors that a humble Coke or hot tea can cost as much—or more—than a decent glass of house wine. The kicker? When you ask for a soda, you may be asked, “What size?” Opt for a large, and at some tourist-trap terraces, you could be staring at a €15–20 charge for a fizzy drink. And, teas are normally expensive. Outrageous, but it happens, embarrassingly it has happened to me when we first moved here. 

The sides

You order a croque-monsieur or an omelette, menu makes it look like it comes with sides. They ask if you want fries or salad, you say yes… and then—bam!—they hit you with an extra charge. This little scam is basically a specialty near train and bus stations

The Forced Extras

In the worst offenders—usually cafés shouting “English Menu!” waiters may drop bottled water, bread baskets, olives, or even a digestif you didn’t order onto your table, only to tack them onto the bill. In genuine Parisian establishments, these little touches are included or clearly listed; in the tourist traps, they’re a quiet upsell.

The Reality Check

To be fair, most Paris restaurants don’t play these games. Stray a little from the Eiffel Tower, Champs-Élysées, or Montmartre, and you’ll find honest menus, transparent prices, and waiters who take pride in their craft. The golden rule? If the menu is laminated and in five languages, keep walking. If locals are eating there, you’re safe.

Miscellaneous Musings

Not quite scams, but quirks and cultural habits worth noting:

Dining on the Wrong Day

The worst days to eat out in Paris? Sundays and Mondays—and sometimes even Saturdays—when many restaurants close. Plan ahead, or you may find your shortlist of favorites all dark at once.

The Vanishing Leisurely Dinner

Paris has long been known for its lingering dinners: good food, good wine, good company, and no rush. Traditionally, once you reserved a table, it was yours for the evening. Increasingly, however, some restaurants are adopting the Anglo-American habit of “turning tables” for profit. I’ve even been asked to vacate a table at 9:30—while waiting for dessert and coffee, which BTW we had to cancel. Needless to say, I avoid such places. NOTE: it's normal for cafés to turn tables, since there's a lot of foot traffic and meant for a quick drink and/or meal. 

Clearing Plates Too Soon

French etiquette dictates that plates remain on the table until everyone has finished eating. If your server begins whisking away plates prematurely, don’t hesitate to point out—politely—that someone at your table isn’t done yet.

The Utensil Double Standard

One of my pet peeves: utensils. At some otherwise excellent restaurants, I’ve noticed a quiet double standard. French diners are given fresh knives and forks with each course; Americans are asked to keep theirs. I find this insulting. If it happens to you, don’t be shy—request clean utensils, as you deserve the same courtesy.

Reservations

Always book ahead—especially at popular restaurants. In my experience, the places worth reserving are usually the ones worth eating at.

Fait Maison 

In France, food is treated like a national treasure, and the French are determined to preserve its authenticity. That’s where the fait maison label comes in. More than a marketing flourish, it’s a legal guarantee that a dish was prepared on site from raw ingredients, not just reheated from frozen. 

The label was introduced in response to restaurants scamming customers by claiming everything was “house-made” when much of it was actually pre-prepared or industrially produced by eg. Metro which is a wholesale cash-and-carry for professional chefs and restaurateurs The official logo — a little saucepan with a roof-shaped lid — is often displayed on the restaurant’s window and next to qualifying dishes on the menu. 

A few exceptions are allowed (cheese, bread, pasta, or cured meats), but otherwise it signals honest cooking straight from the kitchen. If you don’t see the fait maison logo, there’s a good chance much of what’s served is factory-made. In short: the label is your assurance that what’s on your plate is part of France’s living culinary heritage.

Bonus tip regarding Michelin starred restaurants 

If you’re eyeing a Michelin-starred restaurant but want to spare your wallet, book lunch instead of dinner. The menus are often shorter, the prices sometimes nearly half, yet the cooking is every bit as refined as in the evening.

Final Thoughts

Dining in Paris is one of life’s greatest pleasures: the food, the atmosphere, the ritual of it all. But the experience can be soured if you fall into the small traps that target tourists.

Fortunately, they’re easy to avoid.  Check reliable reviews. 

Checking your bill, asking about the formule, and steering clear of multi-language tourist menus—you’ll enjoy Paris dining exactly as it should be: leisurely, delicious, and unforgettable.

JJ & Randy (2025)

With that we say, A SANTÉ et Bon appétit! 

TIPPING IN FRANCE -- an update

 

(AUGUST 2025)

UPDATE TO TIPPING

We’ve been in Paris now for 18 years, long enough to watch the city change in all sorts of ways—some charming, some not so much. One of the newer changes I’ve noticed recently happens not on the plate, but at the moment of paying the bill.

Traditionally in France, the service is already included—that 15% “service compris” you see on your bill isn’t a suggestion, it’s the law. And because servers here earn a living wage with healthcare and benefits, tipping has always been optional and almost always given by Americans. When Parisians do tip, it’s extremely modest—a few coins left on the table, or rounding up to the next euro. Nothing more dramatic than that.

But lately, and to my dislike and dismay, in the busier, touristy spots, I’ve started seeing something new. The little portable card reader is handed over, and suddenly a screen pops up with tip suggestions: 10%, 15%, 20%—I even saw one where the middle option was 22%! It made me angry. But then I realized it wasn’t an accident. By-the-way, these prompts are not shown to French tourists, only to american tourists.

Here’s the funny part: when I’m out speaking French and paying with a French card, the machine often skips the tip screen entirely. Yet, when I’m with English-speaking friends—or worse, using an American credit card—the tip menu magically appears. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Now, for Americans, this is disorienting. At home, leaving 20% is so automatic it’s almost muscle memory. But in Paris, it’s not necessary. You’re not taking food out of your server’s mouth if you don’t leave extra. If the bill is €78 for three people, rounding up to €26 per person is easily divisible and is perfectly polite. That’s it. In fact, leaving 10% or more here is often seen as extravagant—or as if you’ve just announced to the room, “Hi, I’m a tourist, please take advantage of me!” Or a feeling of guilt by not tipping. I say DON’T.

Of course, there are exceptions. If you’re dining at a Michelin-starred restaurant and the service is impeccable, you might leave €10 or €20 on a €500 bill. But even then, it’s a choice, not an obligation. I go with what feels right, not with what the machine tries to nudge me into.

What worries me is this creeping American tipping culture making its way across the Atlantic. If visitors start treating Paris the way they do New York or Los Angeles, before long we’ll be asked to tip everywhere—even at self-service coffee counters. And honestly, that’s the last thing Paris needs.

SUMMARY 

Some might think I’m being stingy, but that’s not it at all. What I don’t want is for Paris to slip into the same tipping culture that’s taken over in the U.S. There, by the time you add tax, a tip of 20% or more, and sometimes even a “service fee” meant to cover things like healthcare for servers, a simple meal can end up costing more than 1/3 over the the original price. That’s not appreciation anymore—it’s obligation. In France, tipping has always been a small gesture of thanks, not a requirement, and I hope it stays that way.

So, my advice, after nearly two decades of watching how things really work here: round up e.g., at cafe bill comes to €4.10, leave €5, keep it simple, and don’t let the machine guilt you into tipping like an American. You’re not being greedy—you’re just living like a Parisian.



A TIP IN FRANCE IS APPRECIATION, NOT OBLIGATION. 

If you're interested, here’s a clear snapshot comparison of how waiters are paid in France vs. the U.S.:

🇫🇷 FRANCE

• Base Pay: Waiters are considered salaried employees. They earn at least the French minimum wage (SMIC), which in 2025 is around €1,766 gross/month (~€1,398 net after taxes). Many earn a bit more depending on experience and establishment.
• Benefits: Full employee benefits — health care, paid vacation (5-weeks), pension, unemployment protection.
• Tips: Service charge (~15%) is already built into the menu price. Tips left by customers are small “thank-yous,” not survival money.
• Distribution: If they get tips usually it goes straight to the server; no obligation to share with kitchen or bar.
• Result: Being a waiter is treated as a stable profession with legal protections.

• 🇺🇸 UNITED STATES 

• Base Pay: Tipped minimum wage (as low as $2.13/hr federally). Servers rely on tips to reach even basic minimum wage.
• Benefits: Rarely include health insurance, paid leave, or retirement unless at upscale venues.
• Tips: Main source of income, often 60–80% of total pay. Strong expectation from customers.
• Distribution: Servers often must “tip out” 15–30% to bartenders, bussers, and others, reducing take-home pay.
• Result: Being a waiter is often precarious work, heavily dependent on customer generosity.

👉 NET-NET

In France, waiters are salaried employees with stability, and tips are not necessary, but just to say thank you, go get a cup of coffee on me. 

In the U.S., waiters live off tips, splitting them with coworkers, and base pay alone is not livable.

Le Clin D’œil -- Restaurant Review

 

For menu, reservation and address: https://www.thefork.fr/restaurant/le-clin-d-oeil-r24715

Rating Standards: 5-Stars = Extraordinary; 4-Stars = Excellent; 3-Stars = Average; 2-Stars = Fair; 1-Star = Poor € = Inexpensive: 30€ and under; €€ = Moderate: 31€-49€; €€€ = Expensive: €50 -75; €€€€ = Very Expensive: more than €76 (prices based on minimum 2-courses)

1-Bell = Pleasantly quiet (less than 65 decibels); 2-Bells = Can talk easily (65-70); 3-Bells = Talking normally gets difficult (70-80); 4-Bells = Can talk only in raised voices (75-90); BOMB = Too noisy for normal conversation (90+)

3.5 - stars .........................€€...................................... 1-🔔 

My nephew’s in town from Australia, and since he spent a few years studying in Paris, I thought it would be nice to revisit that chapter of his life over dinner. I picked a little neighborhood spot in the 15ème—not only close to us, but also easy for him to reach from Meudon, where he’s staying.

The restaurant is tucked away on a quiet side street off Vaugirard, which, fun fact, is said to be the longest street in Paris. It’s the kind of place only locals know about—no tourists, no frills—just the warm, unpretentious charm of a true Parisian neighborhood restaurant

Stepping inside felt like being transported back in time. The glow from the bar lit up the room, where glossy black-and-white portraits of Brando, Lauren Bacall, and the Rat Pack watched over us like old friends. You could almost imagine Sinatra leaning against the counter, drink in hand, while a piano tinkled in the background and a smoky-voiced singer set the mood.

It had all the glamour of a Palm Springs hideaway from the 1950s—except here, in true Parisian fashion, the entire restaurant held no more than 18 or 20 seats. Intimate, understated, and effortlessly charming.

NOTE: I'll only review dishes I had.

ENTRÉE. Dauphiné ravioli with chive cream. The entrée arrived as a generous plate of potato-filled ravioli in a creamy cheese sauce. It was rich and satisfying, without being heavy, and well-prepared overall. Pleasant as it was, the dish didn’t venture far beyond the familiar—comforting, yes, but nothing out of the ordinary.

PLAT PRINCIPAL. Rumsteak with a green pepper sauce accompanied with potatoes and vegetables. I hadn’t had a steak in ages, so I decided to indulge. It arrived exactly as ordered—à point (medium rare)—tender, flavorful, and paired with a pepper sauce that, while a touch rich, suited it perfectly. My only quibble was the vegetables, which were softer than I prefer. Lately, I’ve noticed more and more restaurants serving them al dente, so this felt like a bit of a throwback to when we first moved here and overcooked vegetables were the rule. A French culinary friend once explained that undercooked vegetables risk tasting ‘like grass’—a reminder of how culinary preferences can diverge.”

DESSERT. Profiteroles au chocolat. Talk about overindulging. As someone who’s lactose intolerant, I really had no business ordering dessert after swimming through all that cream and butter. But at that point I figured, why stop now? Besides, if disaster struck, our apartment was only a short wobble away.

Enter the profiteroles. I hadn’t had them in over a decade, and maybe that’s why they tasted so wickedly good—or maybe it’s just that the forbidden always does, n’est-ce pas? The chocolate sauce was gloriously rich, draped over profiteroles so airy they almost floated, stuffed with whipped cream that pretended to make the whole thing ‘lighter’ (as if!). It was indulgence on indulgence, and I regret nothing.

Note: I did, in fact, get sick the next day and nearly didn’t make it to my physical therapy appointment. But really, isn’t that the mark of a dessert worth remembering?

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WINE. Rosso Passione. We all agreed this wine went well with the meal.

Rosso Passione pours into the glass with a deep, seductive ruby glow, like velvet catching candlelight. The nose is immediately inviting—ripe cherries and dark plums entwined with whispers of violets, a touch of spice, and the faintest suggestion of cocoa. It feels less like a wine and more like an embrace.

On the palate, it’s smooth and supple, carrying waves of red berries, wild raspberries, and a hint of pomegranate. A gentle warmth lingers beneath, balanced by a bright acidity that gives the wine energy and lift. The tannins are polished, almost silken, making each sip glide effortlessly.

The finish is long and lingering, leaving behind a trail of fruit, spice, and quiet intensity—just enough to keep you reaching for another glass. True to its name, this is a wine of passion: bold yet tender, indulgent yet graceful.

Pairing suggestion: Best shared over candlelit dinners, hearty pastas, roasted lamb, or simply as a companion to good conversation and stolen glances.

SUMMARY 

With its très-French name and a menu that looked the part, I was all set for a proper Gallic evening. But then I caught the waiter—who I’m fairly certain was also the owner—speaking, and thought, that’s not Parisian, that’s an Italian accent. Sure enough, confirmed later. Suddenly, the menu made perfect sense. It wasn’t a carb-heavy ode to pasta or pizza, but a sort of Italo-French fusion: my potato ravioli in cream, JJ’s veal cozied up with rigatoni on the other side.

Let’s be honest: this isn’t the kind of restaurant gunning for Michelin stars. The food is straightforward, a little rustic, but deeply comforting—the kind of fare that makes locals keep coming back. The space itself is warm and inviting, more ‘your friendly neighborhood haunt’ than ‘special occasion destination.’

I did not notice any 'fait maison' sign, so I wondered if everything was made in-house. For instance, the desserts seemed like they might not be entirely homemade. For certain, the desserts had that suspiciously polished look that screams ‘brought in by the delivery guy at 3 p.m.’ But whoever their supplier is—chapeau. They chose wisely.

Would we return? Absolutely. It’s cozy, close to home, and doesn’t take itself too seriously. For four prix-fixe menus (entrée, plat, and dessert) at €45 each, plus a bottle of wine, the bill came to €215—or €53.75 a head. Not bad for a night of Franco-Italian comfort and a little neighborhood charm.