When I lived on the Left Bank of Paris, venturing to Le Sévero, a tiny, ten-table spot at the back end of the 14th, made a lot more sense. These days, it’s quite a trek, but it’s still worth it if you want excellent steak-frites in Paris.
Let me be clear: I rarely recommend that American beef lovers choose steak in Paris. The grass-fed beef here just doesn’t have the marbling to make these steaks as flavorful as American ones, and dry-aging hasn’t traditionally been the norm. (Even steak hasn’t been the norm, to be honest, which is why the French word for steak is steak [or steck, depending on who you ask. Traditionally, as we explore on the beef bourguignon episode of Fishwives of Paris, the French roasted or stewed their flavorful but tougher beef; it was the Brits who brought us the idea of grilling or pan-cooking it. {Um, holy digression, Batman.}])
I’m back. TLDR, steak in Paris usually isn’t great. But as with all French “rules,” they’re made by their exceptions, of which Le Sévero is the most obvious.
Founded nearly 30 years ago by former butcher William Bernet, Le Sévéro quickly gained acclaim as one of the rare places you could get dry-aged steaks in the city. Today, such treatment is far more common, and while Le Sévero is still as good as it’s always been, it’s become a bastion mainly of Japanese businessmen, a few regulars, and some in-the-know locals willing to traverse Paris to the southern limits for great steak (mainly me).
If you like your French food doled out with a heaping helping of traditional Parisian scorn, this is the place to be. We turned up for our reservation a few minutes early and were scolded promptly for our precipitation into the tiny dining room. After killing a bit of time in a nearby pharmacy, we finally made it inside and took our seats at a table wedged in behind a heavy velvet curtain; at this point, the maitre d’ having disappeared into the kitchen, were greeted by amiable, almost friendly servers with an appetizer list dominated by charcuterie (rosette [14], cecina [18], Auvergnat ham [22]) and a list of mains that’s almost all about the beef: tartare (28) and an L-bone meant to serve two (140) share space with beef tataki with anchovies and olives (32) as well as veal sweetbreads (48) and the only non-bovine offering: andouillette (24).
That said, there’s really no reason to deviate from the faux-filet (52), which is served either blue or rare, if you know what’s good for you. I could see the pain in the eyes of our Anglophone server as a dining companion requested medium. “The chef really recommends…” he stammered, and luckily, my dining companion was only to happy to bow to the preference of the chef. He – and the rest of us – were rewarded with a plate of perfectly rosy-hued beef slices charred to perfection and served with no adornments except for flaky sea salt.
As a side, you’ve got a choice between crispy, golden frites or thin haricots verts. And while the chips are lovely – some of the best in the city – I tend to order the green beans instead, and not just because they’re delicious. The meat is capped with a lovely hunk of rich fat, and if you don’t finish your portion, the server and maitre d’ are sure to tut.
My preference for haricots is also partially due to my preference for the boudin noir as a starter (14), which comes from Christian Parra, aka the best in the biz. Here, his blood sausage is cooked much like the steaks: to a perfect crisp.
My dining companion opted for the house-made pork terrine (14), served with two impeccable cornichons.
The desserts are perfectly adequate but nothing to write home about. A homey mirabelle tart was nothing if not rustic, and when I found myself struggling to finish the last few bites, the server was adamant that the men at the table help me finish every last bite.
Long story short? Come for the steak. Stay for the steak. Return for the steak. And for the love of god, eat everything on your plate.
Le Severo – 8, rue des Plantes, 75014 Paris