11th Arrondissement Restaurants

Vantre is what Frenchie was 15 years ago. Chef Iacopo Chomel and sommelier Marco Pelletier met at Le Bristol's Epicure (after runs at Le Clarence and Le Taillevent, respectively), but despite their fine dining backgrounds, Vantre is relaxed and unpretentious. There are just a handful of seats, and the place is only open for lunch and dinner Monday through Friday. You might notice the crowd is full of chefs from other restaurants, who gather here to split a bottle of wine over lunch. Speaking of: At lunch, opt for the set menu, which goes for just 26 euros for an entrée, plat, and dessert, and get whatever bottle the sommelier tells you to.

At this modern French bistro, you could get away with not looking at the menu at all. The servers are kind and make thoughtful recommendations: this tapa, this dessert, that natural wine. People come for the hot dogs on weekend lunches. Not joking—try one, and you’ll rethink hot dogs entirely. Make reservations; people come back week after week as the menu changes.

Old-school Aux Deux Amis gets shoulder-to-shoulder crowded, so make a reservation or be prepared to squeeze in at the bar to order natural wine and tapas with the masses. The menu changes regularly—expect it might be written by hand and only in French, in which case you can ask your server (or, if you’re at the bar, a new friend) to decipher.

This little bistro is popular for good wine, a contemporary menu of well-executed small plates, and terrace seating that’s especially lovely on a summer evening. It draws lively and youngish crowd on weekends.

Furia’s tacos are solidly the best in Paris. There are just six on the menu—including shiitake al pastor, cauliflower tempura, slow-roasted pulled pork, or tuna and shoestring fries. All delicious, although the fresh corn tortillas might be the real highlight. Grab a seven-euro glass—or a 35-euro bottle—from the well-curated list of natural wines and finish the night off with an order of flan and ice cream. Furia doesn’t take reservations, and it gets packed; come early.

Chefs Robert Compagnon and Jessica Yang are not afraid of a little culinary unorthodoxy, and unsurprisingly their thirty-seat Le Rigmarole is pretty indefinable.

Clown Bar’s exuberant interior dates back to the 1920s, and rather than looking old-fashioned and kitsch, the décor of bright yellow tiles and stained glass adorned with clowns and circus scenes is quirky and quite beautiful.

Nothing at Mokonuts is predictable, not even the cookies: Chocolate chips are traded for fennel, almond, and pickled lemon; coconut is paired with black pepper. Savory dishes are hyperseasonal, and the flavors are out of this world, with many of the spices and ingredients imported from Lebanon.

This is a true trattoria in the middle of Paris, with great platters of antipasti, thin-crust pizzas, and surprisingly big bowls of house-made pasta (definitely not the skimpy starter size—these are mains). The interior immediately suggests a good time with long electric-blue leather benches running the length of the walls, offset by yellow table mats on quintessentially Parisian round tables. Expect a tight squeeze: This place is perpetually packed with locals downing glasses of sparkling Lambrusco and rounding off with a few bites of the sublime tiramisu.

Le Dauphin is immediately next door to its sister restaurant, Le Chateaubriand. Locals hover around the marbled bar (there are only a handful of tables) for well-priced—though complex—small plates and surprisingly affordable wine.