Just as there are people making wine in France who don’t give a hoot about getting the once-coveted appellation contrôlée label for their tipples and who manage to sell their vin de pays for what may seem at first sight very high prices (I’ve seen bottles at 30 euros and more in some wine shops), so the Michelin star seems destined for the scrap heap of history now that many sensible chefs with formidable training and imaginations are not of a stripe to be interested in stars. This is excellent news for diners on modest incomes who pay their own way.

Le Chateaubriand, in a zingy bit of the 11th arrondissement, is the playground of one of them, the Basque chef Inaki Aizpitarte (since he is something of a favorite at the moment, tables must be booked in advance). He has taken over a 1930s bistro – leaving a bit of the original decor above the bar to prove it – and has revamped the rest in a discreetly restful neo-’30s style. Even when it’s awash with foodies, the noise levels are bearable, and if anyone was smoking the night I was there, I didn’t notice.

You won't spend much time reading the menu at Chateaubriand, with just three choices each for starters, main course and dessert. This says something about the ebullient confidence of Inaki Aizpitarte: You’re not to going to find what’s on the menu here anywhere else, and any one of the choices is going to challenge your taste buds as you follow him into culinary terra incognita.

For starters, we chose jaune, potimarron, lard et parmesan and perles blanches, radis et açai. The former turned out to be a round of mashed butternut squash, topped with an egg-yolk warmed through, we were assured, to 60° C (is that the temperature at which the salmonella bacterium gets its comeuppance?), with a wafer-thin rasher of streaky bacon cooked to a perfect crisp and set into it at a jaunty angle. Off to the side was an emerald-green splash of liquidized watercress. This starter masquerading as a bacon-and-eggs breakfast looked great but did not wow the taste buds.

My perles blanches turned out to be de-shelled oysters served on a bed of acai pulp – which I must confess was new to me. Since then I have seen it described as a “superfood” and a “power-berry” tasting like a mix of blackberries and chocolate, generally exported from the Amazon basin in the form of pulp to coax our jaded palates and tired bodies into a higher level of awareness. The dish was interesting, but not mind-bending.

The main courses presented me with a slight moral problem in that two of the three options involved endangered species, and my dining companion chose the third. So, risking eternal ecological damnation, I could either opt for the cod (cabillaud mariné au soja, poireaux vinaigrette) or the Mediterranean red tuna (steak frites de thon), stocks of which are running dangerously low because of overfishing. Still, I thought, while stocks last, and as it’s already there in the kitchen, I could swallow my conscience, too.

But I can now see why the Japanese go mad for the stuff. My plate came with two nicely sized rectangles of what looked like steak on the inside and veal on the seared outer millimeter. The taste, though, was 100 percent fish, and it knocked my socks off. So did the fries, which came, British style, with a splash of vinegar, and were sheer perfection (the only other place that comes near it for fries is the Chinese-run doner kebab opposite my office, which uses twice-fried frozen potatoes).

My companion had the blanquette de joue de cochon au sesame, pois gourmands, an up-to-the-minute take on an old comfort-food favorite. The generous helping of snow peas complemented the melting, creamy, slow-cooked cheek of pork well, without overpowering it. It was pleasurable, without causing either of us to turn up our eyes or wriggle our toes in ecstasy.

At dessert time, I chickened out on the chocolat, poivrons (sweet peppers and chocolate) option and had the well-ripened cheese du jour. The other choice was carrot cake, so good that it could discourage you from making one yourself ever again. It should be available by mail order.

While we were putting all this away, along with a very pleasant Côtes du Rhône from the well-chosen wine list, the place had filled up with a mix of diners of all ages, who made a cheery, bistro-style din while eating. Which goes to show that you can get people to eat and talk in something other than hushed whispers in a temple of gastronomy. But then, this is a reformed temple, where the numerous and sociable ushers, if I may allow myself a little ecumenism, are trained, not to instill a sense of awe in the worshippers, but to keep you in a state of grace.

Le Chateaubriand: 129, avenue Parmentier, 75011 Paris. Métro: Goncourt. Tel: 01 43 57 45 95. Open for lunch and dinner Tuesday-Friday, dinner only on Saturday, Fixed-price menu, €33 for two dishes, €39 for three.

Richard Hesse

© 2006 Paris Update