Bistrot

In that Bible of French gastronomes, the Michelin guide, the top three-star rating would not conceivably be given to any but the great elegant practitioners of the haute cuisine—not to a restaurant serving the cuisine bourgeoise, not to a bistrot, not to a small place with one person in the kitchen, even if that one person is a genius.

He lunched alone in a bistrot, reading the Paris Herald-Trib and noting with perverse pleasure that Bill Bradley had scored only eight points in the Knicks’ first playoff game.

Further along, at a bistrot run by Maltese, they would eat the Mediterranean sausage soubressade, accompanied by heavy wine.

The composer was duly taken out to a bistrot for a generous beverage or two, and on his return listened to the piece conducted by Pedro de Freitas Branco at a considerably faster tempo.