Steak, Locals & 300kg of Beef: A Night at Les Foudres in Paris 20e

It started with crates of Bordeaux in the boot and a Friday night drive across Paris. I was the passenger. My best friend was behind the wheel. The wine was fresh from one of our favourite vignerons, and we were on a mission that ended, as all good missions do, with a surprise dinner and an introduction to one of his old mates—a French TV actor with a taste for bistro classics and Burgundy. The destination: Les Foudres, tucked behind Gambetta and just a stone’s throw from Père Lachaise.

🍽 The Food

What We Ate:

• Onglet de bœuf, 1250g (yes, one thousand two hundred and fifty grams of steak for three grown men with too many opinions)
• Golden fries, crisp and hot
• Mustardy green salad

But let’s talk about that menu. Because before we got to the good stuff, I had a minor internal crisis. This place claims roots in Aveyron, yet the offerings read like a greatest hits of 2017 Parisian menu panic. A Buddha bowl? Steak tartare with coriander and peanuts? A burger and a wok-style salad? My stomach winced before I even ordered. I get it now—why some diners walk away confused or disappointed. It’s a local bistro with an identity crisis on paper. But here’s the twist: if you ignore the fusion fluff and speak directly to the staff, you eat very well.

Texture Talk:
The onglet was a brute—thick, iron-rich, and seared like someone in the kitchen actually gave a damn. Slight chew, full flavour, rested properly. Fries were crisp, golden, and entirely unremarkable in the best way. No foams. No jus. Just meat and heat done right.

Drink Pairings:
A silky Bourgogne at €67 a bottle. If I’d been footing the bill I’d have gone carafe, but when in wine country with actors… you sip accordingly. It was earthy and elegant, held up beautifully against the carnage on the table.

Service & Vibe

This is the kind of place that looks like it’s been here forever—and I hope it never leaves. Step inside and you’re hit by the dark wood panelling, oversized wine barrels mounted like relics, and a zinc bar that glows under moody chandeliers and the watchful eye of a giant vintage clock. It’s got that warm, slightly worn-in grandeur that bistros dream of but can’t fake.

We were greeted like locals—well, our famous friend was, and we happily coasted in on his reputation. The staff were loose and familiar, led by Mathilde, who ran the room with that effortless command only seasoned front-of-house can pull off. When half the menu was off, she didn’t apologise—she offered us steaks from the back like they were black-market truffles. Respect.

The terrace, by contrast, is a whole other world. It spills onto a quiet pedestrian street—one of those rare Parisian setups where toddlers can roam and grown-ups can breathe. By the time we were licking the last scraps of meat from our teeth, the older couples had cleared out and we were getting gently nudged toward the door. The next shift had arrived: twenty-somethings in trainers and vintage jackets, clustering around the zinc bar and tall glasses of beer, revving up for a night out. We’d had our feast; it was their turn now. That’s the rhythm here—locals come in waves, and if you’re lucky, you catch the right one.

The Bigger Picture

Les Foudres is the kind of place that divides people. Some nights, it’s a neighbourhood jewel with sunshine on the terrace and mi-cuit magic. Other nights, the lamb’s cold, the servers are slammed, and the whole place feels like it’s recovering from a bad breakup. That’s Paris. That’s bistro life.

It’s a local joint first and foremost, and unless you’re a regular or roll in with one, service and quality can vary wildly. But when it’s on form? It’s unapologetically French—meaty, boozy, and joyously generous.

Would I come Back?

Yes—but with conditions.
I wouldn’t cross town for it, but if I found myself in the neighbourhood—especially with my little princess in tow—I’d absolutely stop for lunch. And if I heard those Limousin steaks were on again? I’d book a table, no questions asked. It’s a local gem when it hits right, and a reliable, unpretentious option when you’re nearby and hungry.

🗺️ Craving More Steak Frites in Paris?

Les Foudres is now pinned on our Eat Like The French Google Map, along with our other top picks for where to eat steak frites in Paris. Just look for the little red cow symbol 🐄 to find our absolute favourites—no fluff, just proper meat and heat.

👉 Explore the map and sink your teeth into Paris’s best local steak frites spots.

What Others Are Saying

If you’re searching for local restaurants in Paris that still serve real food to real people, Les Foudres might just land on your list. This family-friendly bistro near Père Lachaise has built a quiet reputation among Parisians for its generous cuts of meat, deep wine list, and relaxed terrace set on a pedestrian street—perfect for kids to roam while parents sip in peace.

The reviews? Mixed—but honest.

• 🥖 Petit Futé 2025: “Généreux et sincère… la carte des vins est aussi désirable que la liste des plats.”
• ⭐️ Google Reviews: 4.0/5 – “We were tourists but treated like locals. Food, service, and wine all delivered.”
• 😬 TripAdvisor: 3.2/5 – “Used to be our go-to. Now? Tepid lamb, tasteless fish, service stretched thin.”

But like many truly local spots, it’s not without flaws. TripAdvisor reviews reflect frustration with inconsistent service and a menu that doesn’t always deliver. Some complain about under-seasoned dishes or inattentive staff—especially during busy shifts.

Still, for those looking for a laid-back Paris lunch spot with room for kids and locals alike, Les Foudres delivers old-school charm without the central Paris chaos. Just don’t expect white gloves or viral TikTok plating. This is real-life bistro fare, for better and worse.

• 👨‍👩‍👧 Parent-friendly: Outdoor seating on the square with kids playing nearby—casual and community-driven.
• 🍫 Local tip: If it’s on, order the chocolate mi-cuit. If not, just ask what’s hiding in the back fridge.

Les Foudres, Paris 20eme

Chef Tris

Food Tour Guide

From the bustling streets of Paris to the heat of a professional kitchen, my life has always revolved around food. A Brit who moved to France at 16, I trained as a chef in a Parisian palace kitchen at 18 and have spent decades cooking, eating, and living like the French.

By day, I run kitchens and events, but Eat Like The French is my side hustle—a way to share my passion for French food through writing and food tours. After a detour into tech recruitment, I returned to what I love most: cooking and storytelling—one dish, one tour, and one bite at a time.