Clos d’Astorg
I found Clos d’Astorg the way you find some of the best things in Paris — by walking past it.
It was probably my second or third day in Paris back in October 2024. I had spent the day in Versailles and Giverny, soaking wet from a rainstorm I was completely unprepared for. I was cold and exhausted, and all I wanted was food to appear in front of me so that I could go back to my hotel and climb into the warm sheets. I had noticed Clos d’Astorg earlier while venturing out of my hotel, so I decided to try it because I was too tired to make any real decisions. The neighborhood around my hotel was more commercial than residential — the kind of block that goes quiet at night — so I wasn't expecting much.
It wasn’t very busy that weekday evening when I stumbled in. There were some locals sitting at tables in the main dining room that opened up to the left of the entrance, but the restaurant felt like it was still getting organized, like it had recently opened or was mid-renovation. I noticed boxes stacked around the bar and an open laptop on a table at a far end booth.
Inside felt quintessentially French though. Crimson leather booths, white tablecloths, and wooden chairs. The lighting was dim and sensual, accentuated by candlesticks on each table. I plopped down in a booth near the front of the restaurant, right across the bar.
A man came over to greet me, and during our conversation, I found out he was the head chef. He was warm and friendly, moving between tables of diners like he was greeting friends into his home. I later learned the restaurant was a husband-and-wife operation, and that night, the head chef was also my waiter.
That evening, I started my meal with the poireaux vinaigrette, a classic French dish of room temperature or cold poached leeks with a mustard vinaigrette.
Yes, those words don’t make it sound appetizing at all, but don’t judge it until you've tried it. I had never had a dish dedicated to leeks before, but the chef recommended it and he knows best, right? The leeks looked as if they were sliced, bundled, and pressed into a cylinder, and then cut at a cross section -- like a leek terrine. Brilliant. The leeks were perfectly tender, firm but not crunchy and hard. The vinaigrette was rich but punchy and tart so it didn’t feel heavy. Croutons sprinkled the dish and provided the perfect change in texture.
(A moment for croutons... the best croutons are those that are made from slightly stale/days old crusty bread. There’s a different sort of chewiness and crunch that really accentuate a crouton’s texture. These croutons were those.)
For my meal, I ordered the onglet d’boeuf with sauce bleu de bresse and frites. I am a through and through meat and potatoes girl. As a middle schooler, I could easily eat a 16 oz. steak and baked potato, and still have room for dessert. I've always said that if I were stuck on an island and could choose only one food to eat for the rest of my life, it would be French fries. So naturally, steak frites, a classic French dish, was a must on my first trip to Paris.
In 2014, Pete’s in Downtown LA (IYKYK) shut down and with it, my favorite steak and bleu cheese fries disappeared. That place was an institution for my friend Teresa and me during our years in law school – whenever we had a long day, which was often, we’d head to Pete’s for steak frites and an Old Fashioned. For 10+ years, I had been searching for a steak frites that settled my soul the way that dish at Pete’s had.
When my main dish arrived, I expected it to be good, but I did not expect it to be lifechanging. The onglet d’boeuf (hanger steak) was seared to a perfect medium rare and simply seasoned with salt to highlight the beef; the frites (fries) were crispy and salty; and the sauce bleu de bresse (bleu cheese sauce) was lifechanging. Look, I’m not the biggest fan of bleu cheese because a lot of times, it overpowers the flavors it’s supposed to complement. The pungency can sometimes be too much, and you’re left with a dish that tastes only like bleu cheese. But, my god, this sauce was simply perfection. Creamy but not heavy, rich enough to give a little fat to that lean cut of meat, and hints of the bleu cheese’s sharpness to balance out the salt in the fries. I had to get a second serving of the sauce bleu de bresse because I wanted to swim in it. In that moment, I knew this onglet d’boeuf had ended my 10+-year search.
By the end of the meal, I was so full and so content. And it had been such a special meal that I knew I had to eat at Clos D’Astorg one more time before my time in Paris was up. So the next evening, after a four-hour lunch at Arpege (which was fantastic and you can read a little about in my Paris Travel Guide), I went back for a late dinner.
Locals flitted in and out of the restaurant, but it was not overly crowded and the wife of the husband-and-wife team, who runs the front of the restaurant, spent a lot of the evening talking to me and giving me recommendations of where she and her husband like to eat. For dinner, I decided to try something different, because I wanted to see their range. The previous evening, the chef had recommended I try his chou farci – Le Figaro, one of France’s oldest and most respected newspapers, had just published a glowing review of it – so once again, Chef knows best, right?
Chou farci is a traditional, rustic French dish – cabbage stuffed with ground meat, herbs, and vegetables. And what arrived looked like a full head of cabbage sitting on my plate. Cut into it and underneath was simple, meaty goodness swimming in the richest jus – one that Chef makes by simmering veal foot and poultry carcasses for 24 hours and then reducing it for another 12. The cabbage leaves had real structure to them, they weren’t flimsy or mushy as they sometimes can get. The earthiness of the cabbage grounded all that richness underneath. It was warm and comforting, perfect for the cold outside, and yet somehow it didn't sit heavy. I’d never tried chou farci before, but I could tell this was something special.
That week in Paris was incredible and when I got home, all I could think about were my meals at Clos d’Astorg. Fast forward to a year and a half later in January 2026. I was back in Paris for a week and I knew where I had to revisit. I wanted to relive Clos d’Astorg again. My previous meals there had been quite romantic and there was a part of me that wanted to make sure my experience hadn’t been a fluke that I had romanticized in my head.
So I returned. And what had once been a quiet, neighborhood spot had turned into a lively, mainly locals spot. The husband-and-wife team still walked the dining room, but it was more fleeting than the first time I had visited. Yet still, it was warm and friendly like I had remembered, if not a bit more refined with practice. Of course, I ordered the onglet d’boeuf and I was secretly afraid I had played it up to myself so much that it wasn’t going to meet that expectation. But that first bite of steak with the bleu cheese sauce – it was like tasting something for the first time while knowing you’ve had it before. I ordered another side of the bleu cheese sauce and smothered my fries with every last drop. I can still taste that sauce as I sit here and write about it. And to finish the meal, the waiter tempted me with a rich but light chocolate mousse scooped tableside.
Clos d’Astorg is not a Michelin-starred restaurant nor a viral moment waiting to happen. It is local, warm, and quietly and impeccably executed. It’s the kind of restaurant I wish existed closer to my home, where I could sit around a table with friends on a Thursday night and stay for hours, eating and drinking and laughing.
I stumbled in on a cold and rainy night, too tired to look any further. I had no idea Clos d’Astorg would stay with me long after I had returned home.
Clos d’Astorg
22 Rue d'Astorg, 75008 Paris, France
