Tucked into the tail end of a Hollywood strip mall (across the street from Nancy Silverton’s Mozza empire, if you’re lost) is one of the most sublime French bistros outside of France. Chef Ludo Lefebvre has clung on to his Burgundy culinary roots—and his accent—despite more than twenty years in Los Angeles. The dining room, a small, narrow room that seats maybe twenty, has antique mirrors running the length of the wall reflecting the dim lights and open kitchen. Small stools and slivers of table space force diners to sit close; French rap makes the vibe as appealing as the food. A plate of garlicky escargots and half a warm baguette—never sliced, just torn with your hands—the confit-fried chicken, and a carafe of house red is the perfect order. Petit Trois doesn’t take reservations, but a much bigger sister restaurant has opened in the Valley, and honestly, an aperitif at the tiny bar while you wait is half the pleasure.

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