Sole with Hot Butter and Lemon

In large American cities there are certain old-fashioned French restaurants that are on the verge of extinction. Typically, such places have a maître d’who is likely to greet you with a discreet “bonsoir.” In New York at least, such places have an overstuffed feel, with little tables and banquettes, low ceilings, and waiters in black jackets and bow ties pushing little carts to and fro, carving this and flambéing that. The menu is in French, usually without translation. It is filled with old standbys like lobster bisque, leeks with vinaigrette, rack of lamb, and sole meunière. There are no miso sauces or infused oils and none of the food looks like a skyscraper. I adore such places because they’re cozy and comfortable and because they serve me the dishes I like most, unimproved by some “creative” chef.