Comparing the three bistros we dined at during a weekend trip to Paris, our evening meal at Petit Bofinger on the rue de la Bastille should have shone out as the best of them all. Situated opposite the larger Brasserie Bofinger, well known for its elaborate glass ceiling which has seen many a movie star dining beneath it, Petit Bofinger is a cosier affair, more "bistro" than "brasserie". It was the ideal - and a surprisingly good value - venue for celebrating a friend's 40th birthday. The prix-fixe menu included starters of duck foie gras and langoustines with aioli; mains featured steak tartar and calf's liver; and desserts included one of the richest chocolate tortes I have ever tasted. And all for about a third of the cost of a similar meal in London.

It is in terms of price that good bistros, with their fix-priced menus and often unassuming air, stand out among the usually expensive eateries of Paris. So while Petit Bofinger did exceptionally well on price, with excellent service and a most friendly welcome, it was another, less impressive little bistro, the name of which I cannot recall and tucked away down a side street, that drew most praise from me.

Like many European cities, most cafes and restaurants around the tourist hotspots of Paris are exorbitantly priced, with some charging the equivalent of around 5 ($10) for a cup of coffee. The trick is to duck down the side streets and look for better value - and most likely better atmosphere, too.

Which is exactly what we did when we visited Montmartre. Having spent the morning sightseeing, we were in need of sustenance. As usual, we were surrounded by overpriced eateries. It was purely by chance, as we began the steep walk to Sacre Coeur, that we stumbled upon a bistro on the corner of two side streets that had a bargain prix-fixe menu.

The interior was hardly fashionable. The walls were covered in a cross between flock wallpaper and carpet, cream coloured with a deep red, raised pattern. The woodwork was dark and heavily varnished, and the ceiling nicotine stained. But it was clean and the service friendly enough, and the mostly Parisian clientele were a refreshing change from the tourists. The corner location gave us ample people-watching opportunities, from churchgoers, tourists and tradespeople to quintessential old ladies wearing floppy felt hats, with little dogs tucked under their arms.

I ordered a light meal - and what a revelation! What on the menu appeared to be a simple goat's cheese salad could not have been more different from the often feeble attempts back home. Expecting a round or two of chalky cheese lightly griddled on some bread with a few salad leaves beneath, I was pleasantly surprised by what was placed in front of me.

A large basket of paper-thin pastry contained the lightly dressed salad. On top of the salad sat a parcel - the goat's cheese, wrapped in more of the pastry and gathered up to look like a money bag. This had been cooked so that the cheese had hardly melted at all, retaining its crumbling texture, while the pastry had a delicate crunch to it. Washed down with an acceptable and unassuming glass of house red, it was the perfect meal to see me through the rest of the afternoon.

Petit Bofinger might have been the slicker of these two bistros, and I'd readily admit that the food there was of a higher standard. However, for its slightly offbeat decor, wondrously non-tourist atmosphere, excellent value and the well-above average quality and presentation of such a simple dish, the little bistro in Montmartre won hands down.

Learn more about this author, David Chaproniere.
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