LES AFFRANCHIS--A Charming Neighborhood Bistro, B

  After lavish good eating over the Christmas weekend, my appetite entered this week on tender, timid paws, and were it not for the pleasure of a jolly night out with Johanne, George, Joe and David or a tete a tete with my delightful friend Dorie, I'd certainly have been tempted to maintain a slightly monastic regime, which in my book runs to soup and salad with decorous portions of fish, chicken and pasta. I'd been hearing good things about Les Affranchis, a new bistro in the 9th not far from my front door, however, and since it was also one of the rare recently opened tables that hadn't shut down for the week between two holidays, I booked there the other night for dinner with Dorie. 

  Arriving, I liked this place immediately, since the service was notably friendly and attentive, the room was nicely lit, and as I took the place in, I noticed that it had been decorated by someone with a remarkably good eye, a sense of humor and a good searcher's sleight of hand at the local fleamarkets. An old-fashioned gramophone occupied one corner of the service bar, and there were wryly amusing posters and old advertisements framed on the walls. The Paris they riff on is mostly the city during the fifties and sixties, which creates a soothing atmosphere of a rather amorphous nostalgia, right down to the fact that the young waiter--less schooled than I am in the possibly perceived slights of sexism, eagerly exlained the animated image of the little red go-go dancer on the restaurant's website as evoking the days when Pigalle was still unabashedly naughty.

  Dorie and I sipped a good Pouilly Fume at a very fair 7 Euros a glass and dithered a bit while studying the brief chalkboard menu, because it was so appealing.

 

   Dorie decided to the have the 'Cesar' salad with Parmesan shavings to start, while I eagerly renounced the feint at healthy eating I'd been feigning and went with the terrine de campagne. Both dishes were excellent. Dorie's salad came in a rather awkward deep tear-shaped white porcelain bowl, and the perfectly coddled egg and uber Ducassian neatly trimmed lettuce betrayed the fact that young chef Pierre Petit had passed through the kitchen at Rech, part of the Ducasse stable, as well as working at the Hotel du Palais in Biarritz, the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco, Ledoyen and the wonderful Le Beurre Noisette, among other addresses, all within the space of twelve years. This dish was as winsome as an Easter morning, though, with one of the only Caesar sauces I've ever tasted in France that came anywhere near the real McCoy, and my terrine was earthy and almost seething with flavor, with a perfect coarse texture, and a slab of toasted country bread and a little ramekin of cornichons. 

  So we were off to a very good start, and the phantom thought in the back of my mind as I enjoyed Dorie's always charming and incisive conversation, was that the renewel of the neighborhood bistro in Paris has now reached a rather glorious full gallop. To be sure, you're not likely to find a rock-of-ages coq au vin or blanquette de veau at a place like Les Affranchis, or the superb Le Pantruche nearby--another of my neighborhood favorites, but instead, bright, light, reasonably priced and intelligently inventive contemporary French cooking. The alarming heaving and creaking of the global economy notwithstanding, 2011 has been a brilliant year for good eating in Paris. It's also been a terrific year for anyone who loves good wine in restaurants without spending a fortune, since the white Saumur-Champigny we drank at dinner here was superb and fairly ticketed at 29 Euros.

 

  Main courses were terrific, too. I know I should eat less cod, for the simple reason that I'd like to leave some of this fine fish in the sea for the children of my nieces and nephews, but couldn't resist the roasted cod here because of its garnish of fennel bulb carbonara. Now this was an extraordinarily clever and delicious idea--the fish placed on a sort of fennel bulb compote with a Parmesan cream that was good but not assertive enough and a few lardons strewn through the vegetable. Dorie decided on fish, too, maigre, a firm white Atlantic fish from southwestern France that often goes under the unfortunate English name of croaker, and it came with diced piquillo peppers, an herbal pesto and grilled pine nuts as an expression, perhaps, of the fact that chef Pierre Petit is half Basque. As good as this fish was, however, what I liked most about it were the oven-roasted 'frites' of sweet potatoes (yams?), which I unsuccessfully attempted to recreate at noon today.

  After the main courses, things took a turn south. The cheese plate we shared wasn't very good and the rice pudding that followed wasn't adequately creamy, its candied pineapple and passionfruit topping a disappointment, too. I wasn't too surprised by this, actually, since the weakest link in the blossoming neighborhood bistro revival is invariably dessert, which seems to get sort of a cursory look-in an hour before the doors are unlocked for lunch or dinner by weary young chefs who don't have the luxury of a sous-chef to hive this part of the meal off on to.

  So would I come back? Yes, indeed--I'm already looking forward to inviting two delightful new nieghborhood friends--a brilliant French conductor and a remarkably talented American born pianist, to dinner here just after the New Year. I know that Emmanuel and Andrew will enjoy this place as much as I do, and I fully expect that it'll be even better in a year's time than it is today.

5 rue Henri Monnier, 9th, Tel. 01-45-26-26-30. Metro: Pigalle or Saint Georges

Closed Sunday and Monday.

Menus: 18 Euros (lunch), 25 Euros--two courses, 32 Euros--three courses.