A true bistro, but with a French soul

This isn't a restaurant that throws around the word "bistro." It really is one - a narrow little strip of a space lined with simple dark green banquettes, black and white tiles on the floor, a chalkboard spelling out upcoming themes for Monday wine dinners. The fare is moderately priced, with entrees in the $20s and a nice chunk of the wine list under $50 per bottle. Currently, there's a "Local for the Locals" prix fixe available at $25 for two courses and $32 for three, and those wine dinners are $55 for four courses, pairings included.

Some of the dishes are eternal, solid as an old chair with armrests burnished by elbows, the legs creaking pleasantly under your weight - pate, duck confit, steak frites. They match the appealing out-of-time feeling of the restaurant and the Beacon Hill Hotel it's part of, two renovated townhouses from the 1800s. When you enter, there's a little curved desk behind which the hostess stands; one recent night it holds a package, as if for a guest who, quaintly, resides in one of the upstairs rooms. A clock ticks away on the wall.

The steak frites is one of those dishes that, when a waiter walks past with it and the olfactory trail hits your table, either crushes you or confirms your ineffable wisdom, depending on whether you ordered it. It's a strip steak, so it's tender rather than onglet-chewy, which will appeal to some and turn off others: the great steak frites divide. On this issue I'm Switzerland, and this steak pleases thoroughly, cooked just to medium-rare and juicy, topped with melted herb butter. The frites are crisp, slender, and golden - in the McDonaldian vein, which, admit it, you love.