Petit Paris

Petit Paris does not seem to have a website.

Petit Paris used to be called "Cafe de Paris" until the vengefully litigous establishment of that name in London put a stop to it. I don't know how they got away with it - I mean Cafe de Paris is hardly a brand is it. There must be at least one in every city (with the possible exception of Paris).

I haven't been to Petit Paris for years. Perhaps this is because my partner was waiting for them to forget about her last visit - a spectacularly debauched "girls night out" which ended with the management being obliged to carry away tables in order to create an impromptu dancefloor. I shudder to think about this. Petit Paris occupies that awkward spot midway between a top-end French restaurant and a down-to-earth Nottingham eaterie where you can do pretty much as you please.

My impression on this visit was that they have shifted somewhat towards the top end of the market. That may have had something to do with where we chose to sit. The main room was packed with long tables full of amiably drunken office parties and birthday groups. The back room is much quieter and more reserved. Well, apart from the ear-splitting explosions, shrieks and whines associated with a nearby Guy Fawkes celebration on this particular night.

There is something unaccountably odd about the accents of the senior serving staff. I would have placed them as Italian rather than French. But French is certainly spoken here - I heard a young waitress let fly in highly vernacular French after an aggrieved Canadian diner grabbed her arm as she passed.

The food was, as I say, mid-range provincial French cuisine. Nothing too fancy, nothing that would require you to bring a dictionary to the table (what is a fueillette of salmon?) but good, hearty and reliable food from people who mastered their trade and found their niche years ago. If you fancy a good, cheap night of steak frites and vin de table you won't go far wrong here.