La Carte

Pork shoulder slow-cooked in its own fat until it pulls apart in threads, packed into a ramekin, served cold with cornichons and a heel of yesterday's bread. Mireille's grandmother's recipe, more or less.

Onions caramelised the slow way, finished with beef stock and a splash of cognac. A thick raft of toasted gruyère on top. Burns the roof of your mouth if you're not careful.

Six snails, baked in their shells with so much garlic and parsley butter it pools on the plate. Bread is for mopping. Pliers and the little fork at your right hand.

Goat's cheese on a slice of toasted baguette, grilled until the top puffs and browns. Resting on bitter leaves with walnuts and a sharp vinaigrette.

Bavette, seared hard in a black pan, sliced against the grain. Frites cut in the kitchen each morning, twice-cooked. Béarnaise on the side. Order it bleu and you'll get it nearly raw - say medium-rare unless you're sure.

Duck leg cured for a day, cooked for an afternoon in its own fat, finished crisp under the grill. Served with pommes sarladaises - potatoes pan-fried in more of that duck fat. Nothing here is fast.

A kilo of Brittany mussels, steamed open in white wine, shallots and parsley. Comes with frites and a second empty bowl for the shells. Mop the broth with the bread.

Veal shoulder simmered in a pale stock with carrots and pearl onions, the sauce mounted with cream at the end. Served over rice. Reads simple, takes most of the day.

Aubergine, courgette, peppers and tomato, each stewed separately and folded together at the end so they keep their character. Topped with a soft poached egg.

Three cheeses: a young Comté, a Roquefort that bites back, and an oozing Saint-Marcellin. Walnuts and quince paste on the side.

Apples caramelised in the pan first, the pastry laid over the top and baked, then flipped. Served warm with a spoon of crème fraîche. The kitchen will not split a slice.

Vanilla custard, set the day before, sugar burnt to glass on top with the iron. You hit the surface with the back of your spoon - that's the point.

Three choux buns filled with vanilla ice cream, hot dark chocolate poured over at the table. Eat them before the ice melts.

Bourgueil from a small grower near Chinon. Light, peppery, a little wild. By the glass or carafe.

Oxidative-style white from a tiny Jura producer. Nutty, dry, completely its own thing. The waiter will explain it whether you want them to or not.