Steak frites: The best of a classic

Steak frites is enough of a Paris institution that Le Relais de Venise — an institution in itself — serves nothing else. You go, are handed a menu with almost no choices on it, and are asked whether you want your steak cooked rare or some other, presumably perverse, level of doneness. (They're good about asking and they even tolerate well-done requests without scoffing, a sure sign they're accustomed to serving Americans.)

You start with a romaine salad with walnuts and horseradish vinaigrette, decent enough (included in the price, which is 22 euros, or about $30 at $1.38 to the euro). The beef is brought sliced, on a communal platter, and served with a secret herb-butter sauce (tarragon, shallots?), along with the very good fries, and then set to rest above votive candles on stations near each group of tables. You get more when you ask for it, usually with freshly made fries.

The place would be ideal if the steak itself were first-rate, but it was fun anyway. And it seemed to always be full despite its location in the easily reached but not-so-compelling Porte Maillot (271 Boulevard Pereire; 331-4574-2797). The wine list was tiny — precisely five choices — but the priciest, an 18-euro Bordeaux, suited the meat perfectly. The dessert list was extensive and I was pleasantly surprised by a sorbet of marc de Bourgogne — as good a post-fat palate cleanser as you could ask for. Profiteroles were above average, and the too-sweet vacherin was found irresistible by most of my party. As for ambiance: It was a jammed, not unattractive bistro, with amusingly erratic service.

But if Relais de Venise is a one-trick pony, a sort of burger-fries-malt joint writ large, the dish itself — steak frites — deserves to be taken seriously and, as it happens, the bistros and brasseries around town that do so tend to do well at many other things.

My current favorite — and it should be understood that this changes just about every time I go to Paris — is Le Sèvero, a tiny joint of about 30 seats in the 14th Arrondissment (8, rue des Plantes; 331-4540-4091). The descriptions I'd read of Sèvero called it a wine bar, and indeed the wine list is extensive and dominates the blackboard that covers one wall of the restaurant.

But this is inaccurate. Sèvero is, in fact, a meat restaurant of the highest order, one with a brilliant wine list, a charming owner, a skilled or at least attentive chef and an overall sensibility that veteran eaters will recognize as both unusual and wonderful. There is entrecôte on the menu, but after seeing the massive côtes de boeuf (for two), a friend and I opted for that. It was simply too gorgeous to pass up. Roasted, then sliced in the kitchen, served with the bone in, it came blood rare, beautifully marbled and delicious. (No one asked how we wanted it cooked, and this was common. Many Parisian restaurants assume you will take your steak "saignant," which is seen as correct and translates as underdone. If you want it medium-rare, say "à point," pronounced "ah pwan.") The frites were hand cut, expertly fried and, as is so often the case in Paris (and throughout Europe), still made from decent potatoes; when you bite into them you're not just experiencing crunch but complex flavor.

There are other interesting things to eat at Sèvero. As an appetizer, a few slices of very good French ham — jambon d'Auvergne — were served with a chunk of butter and good bread. The steak tartare was exemplary, the best I'd eaten in years, perfectly seasoned, ground to order, made from delicious meat. Of the boudin noir, my notes say simply "ridiculous;" I have never been a blood sausage fan and this changed my mind. And the boneless fried pig's foot was crunchy-crisp, with that sticky fattiness that can make meat-eating such a pleasure.

You get the idea; this is not a place for vegetarians, or even for people with qualms about eating fat. (One might say it's a place for the politically incorrect, or vampires.) A joy, and not outrageously expensive: you can get by for 50 or 60 euros per person for three outstanding courses, as long as you drink moderately.

Not much effort is spent on ambiance or desserts (the crème caramel was better than average, though, and there were good cheeses), and no-smoking rules make Sèvero (and just about every other restaurant in town) far more pleasant than it was a couple of years ago. The most appealing part of the environment is the proprietor, William Bernet, who wears a hat, glasses, and a white coat over a sweater. He looks for all the world like a butcher from the old neighborhood (which he was, before opening Sèvero), and is about as pleasant as can be, even to ugly Americans.

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