A taste of Paris, just up the street

I didn't mention where we were going when I invited two girlfriends out to a French bistro with my husband and me. I knew they both loved French food -- foie gras! \o7moules! \f7\o7coq au vin\f7\o7!\f7 -- and that one thrilled at the prospect of a honeymoon in Paris, her very first trip there. \o7Mais oui\f7, but they would love to come! What time? The two showed up at my door at the appointed hour dressed up for the occasion in little black dresses, heels, dangly earrings and French perfume.

\o7On y va? \f7Shall we go?

Neither said a word as I revved the car onto the 101 going north. It's in Burbank, I volunteered, and it's new. Hmm, came a noncommittal murmur from the back. And when I turned into the parking lot behind a Vons, Michelle blurted out, "It's in a mall?" I guess she was expecting L'Orangerie. Or something more, shall we say, chic.

"Cut with the snobbism," I grouched. "It's good. You'll see."

There it is, I said, next to the beauty parlor. A forlorn table out front, its white tablecloth buckling in the breeze, marked the spot. A menu was posted beneath a generic sign that read Bistro Provence.

Strange, but true: Interesting little restaurants like this are popping up in far-flung neighborhoods all around L.A., from Avenue in Manhattan Beach and Nook in West Los Angeles, to Literati II in Brentwood, Boneyard Bistro in Sherman Oaks and even Hungry Cat in Hollywood. In every case, the owners are chefs who've done time in the trenches at serious restaurants and when it comes to opening their own places, they do the smart thing: Instead of a sexy -- and pricey -- West Hollywood or Beverly Hills address, they choose a neighborhood dying for a good restaurant.

Rents are lower and potential diners are not only hungry, they're not that crazy about driving across town for anything less than a special occasion. Give them a restaurant that has not only good food, but polished service and soulful charm, and they'll swear undying loyalty. And bring all their friends.

Still, I could tell my friends were feeling more and more dubious, until I opened the door onto the happy clamor of the dining room. They perked up.