Chez Georges

1 rue du Mail 75002, Paris

The waiters wear waistcoats, not smiles, and the napkins are thick enough to stop a knife. This is not the Paris of influencers and tasting menus, it’s the Paris of appetite and memory.

The food? Relentless, generous, defiantly traditional. Escargots drowning gloriously in garlic and parsley, steak frites that bleed exactly as they should, and a sole meunière so slick with lemon and butter it should come with a warning. You drink too much, because everyone does. The wine list is a love letter to Burgundy — comforting, unpretentious, and slightly dangerous (aka ideal).