After one week in France (and watching one too many French films), I've searched continuously for a Houston version of my ideal French bistro. It should be a small, cozy restaurant, with black-and-white tile floors, perhaps, a wood-beamed ceiling, exposed brick walls, and maybe a fireplace for cold evenings. The tablecloths, napkins and dishes would all be brightly colored; the blessedly unpretentious waitstaff would speak with the most charming of French accents. And most important, the moderately priced menu would offer traditional French favorites sometimes forgotten in our continuous... More >>>
More than an excuse for garlic butter: Bistro Provence's escargots.